The   SECOND    GENERATION 


THE  WORKS  OF  DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 

Degarmo's  Wife  George  Helm 

The  Price  She  Paid  The  Conflict 

The  Grain  of  Dust       The  Husband's  Story 

The  Hungry  Heart      White  Magic 

The  Fashionable  Adventures  of  Joshua  Craig 

The  Worth  of  a  Woman 

Old  Wives  for  New 
Light-fingered  Gentry 
The  Second  Generation 
The  Deluge  The  Master  Rogue 

The  Social  Secretary         Golden  Fleece 
The  Plum  Tree  A  Woman  Ventures 

The  Cost  The  Great  God  Success 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 
161 


The  SECOND 
GENERATION 


DAVID    GRAHAM    PHILLIPS 

AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  COST,"  "THE  PLUM  TREE,"  "THE  SOCIAL 
SECRETARY,"  "THE  DELUGE,"  ETC 


NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 

D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 

1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  1907,  BY 
THE  SUCCESS  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 


MM 

I. — "  PUT  YOUR  HOUSE  IN  ORDER!"  I 

II. — OF  SOMEBODIES  AND  NOBODIES    .          .          .          .17 

III. — MRS.  WHITNEY  JNTEKVIKI:        „         .         .         -33 

IV. — THE  SHATTERED  COLOSSUS  ....       46 

V._ THE  WILL 61 

VI. — MRS.  WHITNEY  NEGOTIATES        ....        78 

VII.— JILTED 87 

VIII. — A  FRIEND  IN  NEED 1 06 

IX. — THE  LONG  FAREWELL 118 

X. — "  THROUGH  LOVE  FOR  MY  CHILDREN  "         .          .123 

XI. — "So  SENSITIVE*' 129 

XII. — ARTHUR  FALLS  AMONG  LAWYERS  .          .          .          .140 

XIII. — BUT  is  RESCUED 148 

XIV. — SIMEON    .          .         .         .         .          .         .          .157 

XV. — EARLY  ADVENTURES  OF  A  'PRENTICE     .          .         .164 

XVI. — A  CAST-OFF  SLIPPER 178 

XVII. — POMP  AND  CIRCUMSTANCE  .          .          .          ,          .188 

XVIII. — LOVE,  THE  BLUNDERER        .          .          .          •          •     202 

XIX. — MADELENE        .          .          ,          .          ,          «          ,213 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX. — LORRY'S  ROMANCE 223 

XXI. — HIRAM'S  SON 233 

XXII.— VILLA  D'ORSAY 257 

XXIII. — A  STROLL  IN  A  BYPATH  .          .          .          .276 

XXIV. — DR.   MADELENE  PRESCRIBES        .          .          „         .283 

XXV. — MAN  AND  GENTLEMAN     .....     296 

XXVI. — CHARLES  WHITNEY'S  HEIRS       ....     308 

XXVII.— THE  DOOR  AJAR 329 

XXVIII.— THE  DEAD  THAT  Livi 334 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGF 


«  «  Father!     What  is  it  ? '  she  repeat^  "     .          .  Frontispiece 
"  « I  don't  bother  much  about  people  I  don't  see  '  "       .          .        98 
"  « I'll  be  back  in  a  few  days — a  very  few  '  "  .          .      280 

•«  Fell,  face  downward,  with  his  hands  clasping  the  edge  of  her 

304 


dress" 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 


CHAPTER   I 

UPUT  YOUR   HOUSE   IN    ORDER!" 

N  six  minutes  the  noon  whistle  would  blow. 
But  the  workmen — the  seven  hundred  in  the 
Ranger- Whitney  flour  mills,  the  two  hundred 
and  fifty  in  the  Ranger- Whitney  cooperage  ad 
joining — were,  every  man  and  boy  of  them,  as 
hard  at  it  as  if  the  dinner  rest  were  hours  away. 
On  the  threshold  of  the  long  room  where  several  scores  of  filled 
barrels  were  being  headed  and  stamped  there  suddenly  appeared 
a  huge  figure,  tall  and  broad  and  solid,  clad  in  a  working  suit 
originally  gray  but  now  white  writh  the  flour  dust  that  saturated 
the  air,  and  coated  walls  and  windows  both  within  and  without. 
At  once  each  of  the  ninety-seven  men  and  boys  was  aware  of 
that  presence  and  unconsciously  showed  it  by  putting  on  extra 
"  steam."  With  swinging  step  the  big  figure  crossed  the  pack 
ing  room.  The  gray- white  face  held  straight  ahead,  but  the 
keen  blue  eyes  paused  upon  each  worker  and  each  task.  And 
every  "  hand  "  in  those  two  great  factories  knew  how  all-seeing 
that  glance  was — critical,  but  just;  exacting,  but  encour 
aging.  All-seeing,  in  this  instance,  did  not  mean  merely  fault- 
seeing. 

Hiram  Ranger,  manufacturing  partner  and  controlling 
owner  of  the  Ranger- Whitney  Company  of  St.  Christopher  and 
Chicago,  went  on  into  the  cooperage,  leaving  energy  behind  him, 
rousing  it  before  him.  Many  times,  each  working  day,  between 
seven  in  the  morning  and  six  at  night,  he  made  the  tour  of  those 
two  establishments.  A  miller  by  inheritance  and  training,  he 

I 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION 

learned  the  cooper's  trade  like  any  journeyman,  when  he  de 
cided  that  the  company  should  manufacture  its  own  barrels. 
He  was  not  a  rich  man  who  was  a  manufacturer;  he  was  a 
manufacturer  who  was  incidentally  rich — one  who  made  of  his 
business  a  vocation.  He  had  no  theories  on  the  dignity  of  labor  ; 
he  simply  exemplified  it,  and  would  have  been  amazed,  and 
amused  or  angered  according  to  his  mood,  had  it  been  suggested 
to  him  that  useful  labor  is  not  as  necessary  and  continuous  a  part 
of  life  as  breathing.  He  did  not  speculate  and  talk  about  ideals ; 
he  lived  them,  incessantly  and  unconsciously.  The  talker  of 
ideals  and  the  liver  of  ideals  get  echo  and  response,  each  after 
his  kind — the  talker,  in  the  empty  noise  of  applause;  the  liver, 
in  the  silent  spread  of  the  area  of  achievement. 

A  moment  after  Hiram  roused  the  packing  room  of  the 
flour  mill  with  the  master's  eye,  he  was  in  the  cooperage,  the 
center  of  a  group  round  one  of  the  hooping  machines.  It  had 
got  out  of  gear,  and  the  workman  had  bungled  in  shutting  off 
power;  the  result  was  chaos  that  threatened  to  stop  the  whole 
department  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Ranger  brushed  away  the 
wrangling  tinkerers  and  examined  the  machine.  After  grasp 
ing  the  problem  in  all  its  details,  he  threw  himself  flat  upon 
his  face,  crawled  under  the  machine,  and  called  for  a  light. 
A  moment  later  his  voice  issued  again,  in  a  call  for  a  hammer. 
Several  minutes  of  sharp  hammering;  then  the  mass  of  iron 
began  to  heave.  It  rose  at  the  upward  pressure  of  Ranger's 
powerful  arms  and  legs,  shoulders  and  back ;  it  crashed  over  on 
its  side;  he  stood  up  and,  without  pause  or  outward  sign  of 
his  exertion  of  enormous  strength,  set  about  adjusting  the  gear 
ing  to  action,  with  the  broken  machinery  cut  out.  "  And  he 
past  sixty !  "  muttered  one  workman  to  another,  as  a  murmur  of 
applause  ran  round  the  admiring  circle.  Clearly  Hiram  Ranger 
was  master  there  not  by  reason  of  money  but  because  he  was  first 
in  brain  and  in  brawn;  not  because  he  could  hire  but  because 
he  could  direct  and  do. 

In  the  front  rank  of  the  ring  of  on-looking  workmen  stood  a 
young  man,  tall  as  himself  and  like  him  in  the  outline  of  his 
strong  features,  especially  like  him  in  the  fine  curve  of  the 

2 


"PUT    YOUR    HOUSE    IN    ORDER!" 

prominent  nose.  But  in  dress  and  manner  this  young  man  was 
the  opposite  of  the  master  workman  now  facing  him  in  the 
dust  and  sweat  of  toil.  He  wore  a  fashionable  suit  of  light  gray 
tweed,  a  water-woven  Panama  with  a  wine-colored  ribbon,  a 
wine-colored  scarf;  several  inches  of  wine-colored  socks  showed 
below  his  high-rolled,  carefully  creased  trousers.  There  was 
a  seal  ring  on  the  little  finger  of  the  left  of  a  pair  of  large 
hands  strong  with  the  symmetrical  strength  which  -is  got  only 
at  "  polite  "  or  useless  exercise.  Resting  lightly  between  his 
lips  was  a  big,  expensive-looking  Egyptian  cigarette ;  the  mingled 
odor  of  that  and  a  delicate  cologne  scented  the  air.  With  a 
breeziness  which  a  careful  observer  of  the  niceties  of  manner 
might  have  recognized  as  a  disguise  of  nervousness,  the  young 
man  advanced,  extending  his  right  hand. 

"  Hello,  father!  "  said  he,  "  I  came  to  bring  you  home  to 
lunch." 

The  master  workman  did  not  take  the  offered  hand.  After 
a  quick  glance  of  pride  and  pleasure  which  no  father  could 
have  denied  so  manly  and  handsome  a  son,  he  eyed  the  young 
man  with  a  look  that  bit  into  every  one  of  his  fashionable  de 
tails.  Presently  he  lifted  his  arm  and  pointed.  The  son  fol 
lowed  the  direction  of  that  long,  strong,  useful-looking  fore 
finger,  until  his  gaze  rested  upon  a  sign:  "  No  Smoking  " — big, 
black  letters  on  a  white  background. 

"  Beg  pardon,"  he  stammered,  flushing  and  throwing  away 
the  cigarette. 

The  father  went  to  the  smoking  butt  and  set  his  foot  upon 
it.  The  son's  face  became  crimson;  he  had  flung  the  cigarette 
among  the  shavings  which  littered  the  floor.  "  The  scientists 
say  a  fire  can't  be  lighted  from  burning  tobacco,"  he  said,  with 
a  vigorous  effort  to  repair  the  rent  in  his  surface  of  easy  as 
surance. 

The  old  man — if  that  adjective  can  be  justly  applied  to  one 
who  had  such  strength  and  energy  as  his — made  no  reply.  He 
strode  toward  the  door,  the  son  following,  acute  to  the  grins 
and  winks  the  workmen  were  exchanging  behind  his  back.  The 
father  opened  the  shut  street  door  of  the  cooperage,  and,  when 

3 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

the  son  came  up,  pointed  to  the  big,  white  letters:  "  No  Ad 
mittance.  Apply  at  the  Office." 

"  How  did  you  get  in  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  called  in  at  the  window  and  ordered  one  of  the  men 
to  open  the  door,"  explained  the  son. 

"  Ordered."    The  father  merely  repeated  the  word. 

*'  Requested,  then,"  said  the  son,  feeling  that  he  was  dis 
playing  praiseworthy  patience  with  "  the  governor's "  eccen 
tricities. 

"Which  workman?" 

The  son  indicated  a  man  who  was  taking  a  dinner  pail  from 
under  a  bench  at  the  nearest  window.  The  father  called  to 
him:  "  Jerry!  "  Jerry  came  quickly. 

"  Why  did  you  let  this  young — young  gentleman  in  among 
us?" 

"  I  saw  it  was  Mr.  Arthur,"  began  Jerry. 

"  Then  you  saw  it  was  not  anyone  who  has  any  business 
here.  Who  gave  you  authority  to  suspend  the  rules  of  this 
factory?  " 

"  Don't,  father!  "  protested  Arthur.  "  You  certainly  can't 
blame  him.  He  knew  I'd  make  trouble  if  he  didn't  obey." 

"  He  knew  nothing  of  the  sort,"  replied  Hiram  Ranger. 
"  I  haven't  been  dealing  with  men  for  fifty  years —  However, 
next  time  you'll  know  what  to  do,  Jerry." 

"  He  warned  me  it  was  against  the  rules,"  interjected 
Arthur. 

A  triumphant  smile  gleamed  in  the  father's  eyes  at  this  vin 
dication  of  the  discipline  of  the  mills.  "  Then  he  knew  he 
was  doing  wrong.  He  must  be  fined.  You  can  pay  the  fine, 
young  gentleman — if  you  wish." 

"  Certainly,"  murmured  Arthur.  "  And  now,  let's  go  to 
lunch." 

"To  dinner,"  corrected  the  father;  "your  mother  and  I 
have  dinner  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  not  lunch." 

"  To  dinner,  then.    Anything  you  please,  pa,  only  let's  go." 

When  they  were  at  the  office  and  the  father  was  about 
to  enter  the  inner  room  to  change  his  clothes,  he  wheeledt 

4 


"PUT    YOUR    HOUSE    IN    ORDER !" 

and  said :  "  Why  ain't  you  at  Harvard,  passing  your  exami 
nations?  " 

Arthur's  hands  contracted  and  his  eyes  shifted;  in  a  tone 
to  which  repression  gave  a  seeming  lightness,  he  announced: 
"  The  exams,  are  over.  I've  been  plucked." 

The  slang  was  new  to  Hiram  Ranger,  but  he  understood. 
In  important  matters  his  fixed  habit  was  never  to  speak  until  he 
had  thought  well;  without  a  word  he  turned  and,  with  a 
heaviness  that  was  new  in  his  movements,  went  into  the  dressing 
room.  The  young  man  drew  a  cautious  but  profound  breath  of 
relief — the  confession  he  had  been  dreading  was  over;  his 
father  knew  the  worst.  "  If  the  governor  only  knew  the  world 
better,"  He  said  to  himself,  "  he'd  know  that  at  every  college  the 
best  fellows  always  skate  along  the  edge  of  the  thin  ice.  But  he 
doesn't,  and  so  he  thinks  he's  disgraced."  He  lit  another 
cigarette  by  way  of  consolation  and  clarification. 

When  the  father  reappeared,  dressed  for  the  street,  he  was 
apparently  unconscious  of  the  cigarette.  They  walked  home 
in  silence — a  striking-looking  pair,  with  their  great  similar 
forms  and  their  handsome  similar  faces,  typical  impersonations 
of  the  first  generation  that  is  sowing  in  labor,  and  the  second 
generation  that  is  reaping  in  idleness. 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Arthur,  as  they  entered  the  Ranger 
place  and  began  to  ascend  the  stone  walk  through  the  lawns 
sloping  down  from  the  big,  substantial-looking,  creeper-clad 
house,  "  I  stopped  at  Cleveland  half  a  day,  on  the  way  West, 
and  brought  Adelaide  along."  He  said  this  with  elaborate 
carelessness ;  in  fact,  he  had  begged  her  to  come  that  she  might 
once  more  take  her  familiar  and  highly  successful  part  of  buffer 
between  him  and  his  father's  displeasure. 

The  father's  head  lifted,  and  the  cloud  over  his  face  also. 
"How  is  she?"  he  asked. 

"  Bang  up!  "  answered  Arthur.  "  She's  the  sort  of  a  sister 
a  man's  proud  of — looks  and  style,  and  the  gait  of  a  thorough 
bred."  He  interrupted  himself  with  a  laugh.  "  There  he  is, 
now !  "  he  exclaimed. 

This  was  caused  by  the  appearance,  in  the  open  front  doors, 

5 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

of  a  strange  creature  with  a  bright  pink  ribbon  arranged  as  a 
sort  of  cockade  around  and  above  its  left  ear — a  brown,  hairy, 
unclean-looking  thing  that  gazed  with  human  inquisitiveness 
at  the  approaching  figures.  As  the  elder  Ranger  drew  down 
his  eyebrows  the  creature  gave  a  squeak  of  alarm  and,  dropping 
from  a  sitting  position  to  all  fours,  wheeled  and  shambled 
swiftly  along  the  wide  hall,  walking  human  fashion  with  its 
hind  feet,  dog  fashion  with  its  fore  feet  or  arms. 

At  first  sight  of  this  apparition  Ranger  halted.  He  stared 
with  an  expression  so  astounded  that  Arthur  laughed  outright. 
"  What  was  that?  "  he  now  demanded. 

"  Simeon,"  replied  Arthur.  "  Del  has  taken  on  a  monk. 
It's  the  latest  fad." 

"  Oh !  "  ejaculated  Ranger.    "  Simeon." 

"  She  named  it  after  grandfather — and  there  is  a — "  Arthur 
stopped  short.  He  remembered  that  "  Simeon  "  was  his  father's 
father;  perhaps  his  father  might  not  see  the  joke.  "That  is," 
he  explained,  "  she  was  looking  for  a  name,  and  I  thought  of 
1  simian,'  naturally,  and  that,  of  course,  suggested  '  Simeon ' — 
and " 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Hiram,  in  a  tone  of  ominous  calm  which 
his  family  knew  was  the  signal  that  a  subject  must  be  dropped. 

Now  there  was  a  quick  froufrou  of  skirts,  and  from  the 
sitting  room  to  the  left  darted  a  handsome,  fair  girl  of  nine 
teen,  beautifully  dressed  in  a  gray  summer  silk  with  simple  but 
effectively  placed  bands  of  pink  embroidery  on  blouse  and  skirt. 
As  she  bounded  down  the  steps  and  into  her  father's  arms  her 
flying  skirts  revealed  a  pair  of  long,  narrow  feet  in  stylish  gray 
shoes  and  gray  silk  stockings  exactly  matching  the  rest  of  her 
costume.  "  Daddy!  Daddy!  "  she  cried. 

His  arms  were  trembling  as  they  clasped  her — were  trem 
bling  with  the  emotion  that  surged  into  her  eyes  in  the  more 
obvious  but  less  significant  form  of  tears.  "  Glad  to  see  you, 
Delia,"  was  all  he  said. 

She  put  her  slim  white  forefinger  on  his  lips. 

He  smiled.  "  Oh !  I  forgot.  You're  Adelaide,  of  course, 
since  you've  grown  up." 

6 


"PUT    YOUR    HOUSE    IN    ORDER!" 

"  Why  call  me  out  of  my  name?"  she  demanded,  gayly. 
"  You  should  have  christened  me  Delia  if  you  had  wanted  me 
named  that." 

"  I'll  try  to  remember,  next  time,"  he  said,  meekly.  His 
gray  eyes  were  dancing  and  twinkling  like  sunbeams  pouring 
from  breaches  in  a  spent  storm-cloud;  there  was  an  eloquence 
of  pleasure  far  beyond  laughter's  in  the  rare,  infrequent  eye 
smiles  from  his  sober,  strong  face. 

Now  there  was  a  squeaking  and  chattering  behind  them. 
Adelaide  whirled  free  of  her  father's  arms  and  caught  up  the 
monkey.  "  Put  out  your  hand,  sir,"  said  she,  and  she  kissed 
him.  Her  father  shuddered,  so  awful  was  the  contrast  between 
the  wizened,  dirty-brown  face  and  her  roselike  skin  and  fresh 
fairness.  "  Put  out  your  hand  and  bow,  sir,"  she  went  on. 
"  This  is  Mr.  Hiram  Ranger,  Mr.  Simeon.  Mr.  Simeon,  Mr. 
Ranger;  Mr.  Ranger,  Mr.  Simeon." 

Hiram,  wondering  at  his  own  weakness,  awkwardly  took 
the  paw  so  uncannily  like  a  mummied  hand.  "  What  did  you 
do  this  for,  Adelaide?  "  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  mild  remonstrance 
where  he  had  intended  to  be  firm. 

"  He's  so  fascinating,  I  couldn't  resist.  He's  so  wonder 
fully  human " 

"That's  it,"  said  her  father;  "  so— so " 

"  Loathsomely  human,"  interjected  Arthur. 

"  Loathsome,"  said  the  father. 

"  That  impression  soon  wears  off,"  assured  Adelaide,  "  and 
he's  just  like  a  human  being  as  company.  I'd  be  bored  to  death 
if  I  didn't  have  him.  He  gives  me  an  occupation." 

At  this  the  cloud  settled  on  Ranger's  face  again — a  cloud 
of  sadness.  An  occupation ! 

Simeon  hid  his  face  in  Adelaide's  shoulder  and  began  to 
whimper.  She  patted  him  softly.  "  How  can  you  be  so  cruel  ?  " 
she  reproached  her  father.  "  He  has  feelings  almost  like  a  hu 
man  being." 

Ranger  winced.  Had  the  daughter  not  been  so  busy  con 
soling  her  unhappy  pet,  the  father's  expression  might  have  sug 
gested  to  her  that  there  was,  not  distant  from  her,  a  being  who 

7 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

had  feelings,  not  almost,  but  quite  human,  and  who  might  af 
ford  an  occupation  for  an  occupation-hunting  young  woman 
which  might  make  love  and  care  for  a  monkey  superfluous.  But 
he  said  nothing.  He  noted  that  the  monkey's  ribbon  exactly 
matched  the  embroidery  on  Adelaide's  dress. 

"  If  he  were  a  dog  or  a  cat,  you  wouldn't  mind,"  she 
went  on. 

True  enough !    Clearly,  he  was  unreasonable  with  her. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  send  him  away?  " 

"  I'll  get  used  to  him,  I  reckon,"  replied  Hiram,  adding, 
with  a  faint  gleam  of  sarcasm,  "I've  got  used  to  a  great  many 
things  these  last  few  years." 

They  went  silently  into  the  house,  Adelaide  and  Arthur 
feeling  that  their  father  had  quite  unreasonably  put  a  damper 
upon  their  spirits — a  feeling  which  he  himself  had.  He  felt 
that  he  was  right,  and  he  was  puzzled  to  find  himself,  even 
in  his  own  mind,  in  the  wrong. 

"  He's  hopelessly  old-fashioned !  "  murmured  Arthur  to  his 
sister. 

"  Yes,  but  such  a  dear,"  murmured  Adelaide. 

"  No  wonder  you  say  that!  "  was  his  retort.  "You  wind 
him  round  your  finger." 

In  the  sitting  room — the  "  back  parlor  " — Mrs.  Ranger  de 
scended  upon  them  from  the  direction  of  the  kitchen.  Ellen 
was  dressed  for  work;  her  old  gingham,  for  all  its  neatness, 
was  in  as  sharp  contrast  to  her  daughter's  garb  of  the  lady 
of  leisure  as  were  Hiram's  mill  clothes  to  his  son's  "  London 
latest."  "  It's  almost  half-past  twelve,"  she  said.  "  Dinner's 
been  ready  more  than  half  an  hour.  Mary's  furious,  and  it's 
hard  enough  to  keep  servants  in  this  town  since  the  canning 
factories  started." 

Adelaide  and  Arthur  laughed;  Hiram  smiled.  They  were 
all  thoroughly  familiar  with  that  canning- factory  theme.  It 
constituted  the  chief  feature  of  the  servant  problem  in  Saint 
X,  as  everybody  called  St.  Christopher ;  and  the  servant  problem 
there,  as  everywhere  else,  was  the  chief  feature  of  domestic 
economy.  As  Mrs.  Ranger's  mind  was  concentrated  upon  her 

8 


"PUT    YOUR    HOUSE    IN    ORDER!" 

household,  the  canning  factories  were  under  fire  from  her  early 
and  late,  in  season  and  out  of  season. 

"  And  she's  got  to  wait  on  the  table,  too,"  continued  Ellen, 
too  interested  in  reviewing  her  troubles  to  mind  the  amusement 
of  the  rest  of  the  family. 

"Why,  where's  the  new  girl  Jarvis  brought  you?"  asked 
Hiram. 

"  She  came  from  way  back  in  the  country,  and,  when  she 
set  the  table,  she  fixed  five  places.  *  There's  only  four  of  us, 
Barbara,'  said  I.  '  Yes,  Mrs.  Ranger,'  says  she,  '  four  and  me.' 
*  But  how're  you  going  to  wait  on  the  table  and  sit  with  us?  ' 
says  I,  very  kindly,  for  I  step  mighty  soft  with  these  people. 
4  Oh,  I  don't  mind  bouncin'  up  and  down,'  says  she;  'I  can 
chew  as  I  walk  round.'  When  I  explained,  she  up  and  left 
in  a  huff.  '  I'm  as  good  as  you  are,  Mrs.  Ranger,  I'd  have  you 
know,'  she  said,  as  she  was  going,  just  to  set  Mary  afire;  '  my 
father's  an  independent  farmer,  and  I  don't  have  to  live  out. 
I  just  thought  I'd  like  to  visit  in  town,  and  I'd  heard  your  folks 
well  spoke  of.  I'll  get  a  place  in  the  canning  factory!'  I 
wasn't  sorry  to  have  her  go.  You  ought  to  have  seen  the  way 
she  set  the  table !  " 

"  We'll  have  to  get  servants  from  the  East,"  said  Arthur. 
"  They  know  their  place  a  little  better  there.  We  can  get  some 
English  that  have  just  come  over.  They're  the  best — thoroughly 
respectful." 

He  did  not  see  the  glance  his  father  shot  at  him  from  under 
his  heavy  eyebrows.  But  Adelaide  did — she  was  expecting  it. 
"  Don't  talk  like  a  cad,  Artie !  "  she  said.  "  You  know  you 
don't  think  that  way." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  don't  admire  that  spirit — or  lack  of  it," 
he  replied.  "  But — what  are  you  going  to  do?  It's  the  flunkies 
or  the  Barbaras  and  Marys — or  doing  our  own  work." 

To  Hiram  Ranger  that  seemed  unanswerable,  and  his  resent 
ment  against  his  son  for  expressing  ideas  for  which  he  had  utter 
contempt  seemed  unreasonable.  Again  reason  put  him  in  the 
wrong,  though  instinct  was  insisting  that  he  was  in  the  right. 

"  It's  a  pity  people  aren't  contented  in  *  the  station  to  which 
2  9 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

God  has  called   them,'  as  the  English  prayer  book  says,"  con 
tinued  Arthur,  not  catching  sensitive  Adelaide's  warning  frown. 

"  If  your  mother  and  I  had  been  content,"  said  Hiram,  "  you 
and  Delia  would  be  looking  for  places  in  the  canning  factory." 
The  remark  was  doubly  startling — for  the  repressed  energy  of 
its  sarcasm,  and  because,  as  a  rule,  Hiram  never  joined  in  the 
discussions  in  the  family  circle. 

They  were  at  the  table,  all  except  Mrs.  Ranger.  She  had 
disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen  and  presently  reap 
peared  bearing  a  soup  tureen,  which  she  set  down  before  her 
husband.  "  I  don't  dare  ask  Mary  to  wait  on  the  table,"  said 
she.  "  If  I  did,  she's  just  in  the  humor  to  up  and  light  out, 
too;  and  your  mother's  got  no  hankering  for  hanging  over  a  hot 
stove  in  this  weather." 

She  transferred  the  pile  of  soup  plates  from  the  sideboard 
and  seated  herself.  Her  husband  poured  the  soup,  and  the 
plates  were  passed  from  hand  to  hand  until  all  were  served. 
"  If  the  Sandyses  could  see  us  now,  Del,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Or  the  Whitneys,"  suggested  Adelaide,  and  both  laughed 
as  people  laugh  when  they  think  the  joke,  or  the  best  part  of 
it,  is  a  secret  between  themselves. 

Nothing  more  was  said  until  the  soup  was  finished  and 
Mrs.  Ranger  rose  and  began  to  remove  the  dishes.  Adelaide, 
gazing  at  the  table,  her  thoughts  far  away,  became  uneasy, 
stirred,  looked  up;  she  saw  that  the  cause  of  her  uneasiness 
was  the  eyes  of  her  father  fixed  steadily  upon  her  in  a  look 
which  she  could  not  immediately  interpret.  When  he  saw 
that  he  had  her  attention,  he  glanced  significantly  toward  her 
mother,  waiting  upon  them.  "If  the  Sandyses  or  the  Whit 
neys  could  see  us  now  \  "  he  said. 

She  reddened,  pushed  back  her  chair,  and  sprang  up.  "  Oh, 
I  never  thought!"  she  exclaimed.  "Sit  down,  mother,  and 
let  me  do  that.  You  and  father  have  got  us  into  awful  bad 
ways,  always  indulging  us  and  waiting  on  us." 

"  You  let  me  alone,"  replied  her  mother.  "  I'm  used  to 
it.  I  did  my  own  work  for  fifteen  years  after  we  were  mar 
ried,  and  I'd  have  been  doing  it  yet  if  your  father  hadn't  just 

10 


"PUT    YOUR    HOUSE    IN    ORDER!" 

gone  out  and  got  a  girl  and  brought  her  in  and  set  her  to 
work.  No;  sit  down,  Del.  You  don't  know  anything  about 
work.  I  didn't  bring  you  up  to  be  a  household  drudge." 

But  Del  was  on  her  way  to  the  kitchen,  whence  she  pres 
ently  reappeared  with  a  platter  and  a  vegetable  dish.  Down 
the  front  of  her  skirt  was  a  streak  of  grease.  !<  There!  "  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Ranger,  coloring  high  with  exasperation,  "  your 
dress  is  spoiled !  I  don't  believe  I  can  take  it  out  of  that 
kind  of  goods  without  leaving  a  spot.  Hiram,  I  do  wish  you 
wouldn't  meddle  with  the  children!  It  seems  to  me  you've  got 
enough  to  do  to  'tend  your  own  affairs  at  the  mill." 

This  was  unanswerable,  or  so  it  seemed  to  her  husband. 
Once  more  he  felt  in  the  wrong,  when  he  knew  that,  some 
how,  he  was  in  the  right. 

But  Adelaide  was  laughing  and  going  forward  gracefully 
with  her  duties  as  waitress.  "It's  nothing,"  she  said;  "the 
stain  will  come  out;  and,  if  it  doesn't,  there's  no  harm  done. 
The  dress  is  an  old  thing.  I've  worn  it  until  everybody's  sick 
of  the  sight  of  it." 

Mrs.  Ranger  now  took  her  turn  at  looking  disapproval. 
She  exclaimed:  "  Why,  the  dress  is  as  good  as  new;  much  too 
good  to  travel  in.  You  ought  to  have  worn  a  linen  duster 
over  it  on  the  train." 

At  this  even  Hiram  showed  keen  amusement,  and  Mrs. 
Ranger  herself  joined  in  the  laugh.  "  Well,  it  was  a  good, 
sensible  fashion,  anyhow,"  said  she. 

Instead  of  hurrying  through  dinner  to  get  back  to  his  work 
with  the  one  o'clock  whistle,  Hiram  Ranger  lingered  on,  much 
to  the  astonishment  of  his  family.  When  the  faint  sound  of 
the  whistles  of  the  distant  factories  was  borne  to  them  through 
the  open  windows,  Mrs.  Ranger  cried,  "  You'll  be  late,  father." 

"  I'm  in  no  hurry  to-day,"  said  Ranger,  rousing  from  the 
seeming  abstraction  in  which  he  passed  most  of  his  time  with 
his  assembled  family.  After  dinner  he  seated  himself  on  the 
front  porch.  Adelaide  came  up  behind  and  put  her  arm 
round  his  neck.  "You're  not  feeling  well,  daddy?" 

"  Not  extra,"  he  answered.  "  But  it's  nothing  to  bother 

II 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

about.  I  thought  I'd  rest  a  few  minutes."  He  patted  her  in 
shy  expression  of  gratitude  for  her  little  attention.  It  is  not 
strange  that  Del  overvalued  the  merit  of  these  trivial  atten 
tions  of  hers  when  they  were  valued  thus  high  by  her  father, 
who  longed  for  proofs  of  affection  and,  because  of  his  shyness 
and  silence,  got  few. 

"Hey,  Del!  Hurry  up!  Get  into  your  hat  and  dust- 
coat!  "  was  now  heard,  in  Arthur's  voice,  from  the  drive  to 
the  left  of  the  lawns. 

Hiram's  glance  shifted  to  the  direction  of  the  sound.  Ar 
thur  was  perched  high  in  a  dogcart  to  which  were  attached 
two  horses,  one  before  the  other.  Adelaide  did  not  like  to 
leave  her  father  with  that  expression  on  his  face,  but  after  a 
brief  hesitation  she  went  into  the  house.  Hiram  advanced 
slowly  across  the  lawn  toward  the  tandem.  When  he  had  in 
spected  it  in  detail,  at  close  range,  he  said :  "  Where'd  you  get 
it,  young  gentleman  ?  "  Again  there  was  stress  on  the  "  gen 
tleman." 

"  Oh,  I've  had  it  at  Harvard  several  months,"  he  replied 
carelessly.  "  I  shipped  it  on.  I  sold  the  horses — got  a  smash 
ing  good  price  for  'em.  Yours  ain't  used  to  tandem,  but  I 
guess  I  can  manage  'em." 

"  That  style  of  hitching's  new  to  these  parts,"  continued 
Hiram. 

Arthur  felt  the  queerness  of  his  father's  tone.  "  Two,  side 
by  side,  or  two,  one  in  front  of  the  other — where's  the  differ 
ence?" 

True,  reflected  Hiram.  He  was  wrong  again — yet  again 
unconvinced.  Certainly  the  handsome  son,  so  smartly  gotten 
up,  seated  in  this  smart  trap,  did  look  attractive — but  some 
how  not  as  he  would  have  had  his  son  look.  Adelaide  came; 
he  helped  her  to  the  lower  seat.  As  he  watched  them  dash 
away,  as  fine-looking  a  pair  of  young  people  as  ever  gladdened 
a  father's  eye,  this  father's  heart  lifted  with  pride — but  sank 
again.  Everything  seemed  all  right ;  why,  then,  did  everything 
feel  all  wrong? 

"  I'm  not  well  to-day,"  he  muttered.  He  returned  to  the 

12 


"PUT    YOUR    HOUSE    IN    ORDER!" 

porch,  walking  heavily.  In  body  and  in  mind  he  felt  listless. 
There  seemed  to  be  something  or  some  one  inside  him — a  new 
comer — aloof  from  all  that  he  had  regarded  as  himself — aloof 
from  his  family,  from  his  work,  from  his  own  personality — an 
outsider,  studying  the  whole  perplexedly  and  gloomily. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  gate  a  truck  entered  the  drive.  It 
was  loaded  with  trunks — his  son's  and  his  daughter's  baggage 
on  the  way  from  the  station.  Hiram  paused  and  counted  the 
boxes — five  huge  trunks — Adelaide's  beyond  doubt ;  four  smaller 
ones,  six  of  steamer  size  and  thereabouts — profuse  and  elegant 
Arthur's  profuse  and  elegant  array  of  canvas  and  leather.  This 
mass  of  superfluity  seemed  to  add  itself  to  his  burden.  He  re 
called  what  his  wife  had  once  said  when  he  hesitated  over  some 
new  extravagance  of  the  children's:  "What'd  we  toil  and  save 
for,  unless  to  give  them  a  better  time  than  we  had?  What's 
the  use  of  our  having  money  if  they  can't  enjoy  it?  "  A  "  bet 
ter  time,"  "  enjoy  " — they  sounded  all  right,  but  were  they 
really  all  right?  Was  this  really  a  "  better  time"  ? — really 
enjoyment?  Were  his  and  his  wife's  life  all  wrong,  except  as 
they  had  contributed  to  this  new  life  of  thoughtless  spending 
and  useless  activity  and  vanity  and  splurge? 

Instead  of  going  toward  the  factories,  he  turned  east  and 
presently  out  of  Jefferson  Street  into  Elm.  He  paused  at  a 
two-story  brick  house  painted  brown,  with  a  small  but  brilliant 
and  tasteful  garden  in  front  and  down  either  side.  To  the 
right  of  the  door  was  an  unobtrusive  black-and-gold  sign  bear 
ing  the  words  "  Ferdinand  Schulze,  M.D."  He  rang,  was 
admitted  by  a  pretty,  plump,  Saxon-blond  young  woman — the 
doctor's  younger  daughter  and  housekeeper.  She  looked  freshly 
clean  and  wholesome — and  so  useful!  Hiram's  eyes  rested 
upon  her  approvingly;  and  often  afterwards  his  thoughts  re 
turned  to  her,  lingering  upon  her  and  his  own  daughter  in  that 
sort  of  vague  comparisons  which  we  would  not  entertain  were 
we  aware  of  them. 

Dr.  Schulze  was  the  most  distinguished — indeed,  the  only 
distinguished — physician  in  Saint  X.  He  was  a  short,  stout, 
grizzled,  spectacled  man,  with  a  nose  like  a  scarlet  button  and 

13 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

a  mouth  like  a  buttonhole;  in  speech  he  was  abrupt,  and,  on 
the  slightest  pretext  or  no  pretext  at  all,  sharp ;  he  hid  a  warm 
sympathy  for  human  nature,  especially  for  its  weaknesses,  be 
hind  an  uncompromising  candor  which  he  regarded  as  the  duty 
of  the  man  of  science  toward  a  vain  and  deluded  race  that  knew 
little  and  learned  reluctantly.  A  man  is  either  better  or  worse 
than  the  manner  he  chooses  for  purposes  of  conciliating  or 
defying  the  world.  Dr.  Schulze  was  better,  as  much  better 
as  his  mind  was  superior  to  his  body.  He  and  his  motherless 
daughters  were  "  not  in  it  "  socially.  Saint  X  was  not  quite 
certain  whether  it  shunned  them  or  they  it.  His  services  were 
sought  only  in  extremities,  partly  because  he  would  lie  to  his 
patients  neither  when  he  knew  what  ailed  them  nor  when  he 
did  not,  and  partly  because  he  was  a  militant  infidel.  He  lost 
no  opportunity  to  attack  religion  in  all  its  forms;  and  his  two 
daughters  let  no  opportunity  escape  to  show  that  they  stood 
with  their  father,  whom  they  adored,  and  who  had  brought 
them  up  with  his  heart.  It  was  Dr.  Schulze's  furious  unbelief, 
investing  him  with  a  certain  suggestion  of  Satan-got  intelli 
gence,  that  attracted  Saint  X  to  him  in  serious  illnesses — some 
what  as  the  Christian  princes  of  mediaeval  Europe  tolerated 
and  believed  in  the  Jew  physicians.  Saint  X  was  only  just 
reaching  the  stage  at  which  it  could  listen  to  "  higher  criticism  " 
without  dread  lest  the  talk  should  be  interrupted  by  a  bolt 
from  "  special  Providence " ;  the  fact  that  Schulze  lived  on, 
believing  and  talking  as  he  did,  could  be  explained  only  as 
miraculous  and  mysterious  forbearance  in  which  Satan  must 
somehow  have  direct  part. 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  for  many  a  year  yet,"  said 
Schulze,  as  Hiram,  standing,  faced  him  sitting  at  his  desk. 

The  master  workman  grew  still  more  pallid  as  he  heard 
the  thought  that  weighted  him  in  secret  thus  put  into  words. 
"  I  have  never  had  a  doctor  before  in  my  life,"  said  he.  "  My 
prescription  has  been,  when  you  feel  badly  stop  eating  and 
work  harder." 

"  Starve  and  sweat — none  better,"  said  Schulze.  "  Well, 
why  do  you  come  here  to-day  ?  " 


"PUT    YOUR    HOUSE    IN    ORDER!" 

"  This  morning  I  lifted  a  rather  heavy  weight.  I've  felt 
a  kind  of  tiredness  ever  since,  and  a  pain  in  the  lower  part  of 
my  back — pretty  bad.  I  can't  understand  it." 

"  But  I  can — that's  my  business.  Take  off  your  clothes 
and  stretch  yourself  on  this  chair.  Call  me  when  you're 
ready." 

Schulze  withdrew  into  what  smelled  like  a  laboratory. 
Hiram  could  hear  him  rattling  glass  against  glass  and  metal, 
could  smell  the  fumes  of  uncorked  bottles  of  acids.  When  he 
called,  Schulze  reappeared,  disposed  instruments  and  tubes  upon 
a  table.  "  I  never  ask  my  patients  questions,"  he  said,  as  he 
began  to  examine  Hiram's  chest.  "  I  lay  'em  out  here  and  go 
over  'em  inch  by  inch.  I  find  all  the  weak  spots,  both  those 
that  are  crying  out  and  those  worse  ones  that  don't.  I  never 
ask  a  man  what's  the  matter;  I  tell  him.  And  my  patients, 
and  all  the  fools  in  this  town,  think  I'm  in  league  with  the 
devil.  A  doctor  who  finds  out  what's  the  matter  with  a  man 
Providence  is  try-ing  to  lay  in  the  grave — what  can  it  be  but 
the  devil?" 

He  had  reached  his  subject;  as  he  worked  he  talked  it — 
religion,  its  folly,  its  silliness,  its  cruelty,  its  ignorance,  its 
viciousness.  Hiram  listened  without  hearing;  he  was  absorbed 
in  observing  the  diagnosis.  He  knew  nothing  of  medicine,  but 
he  did  know  good  workmanship.  As  the  physician  worked,  his 
admiration  and  confidence  grew.  He  began  to  feel  better — 
not  physically  better,  but  that  mental  relief  which  a  courageous 
man  feels  when  the  peril  he  is  facing  is  stripped  of  the  mystery 
that  made  it  a  terror.  After  perhaps  three  quarters  of  an 
hour,  Schulze  withdrew  to  the  laboratory,  saying:  "That's  all. 
You  may  dress." 

Hiram  dressed,  seated  himself.  By  chance  he  was  opposite 
a  huge  image  from  the  Orient,  a  hideous,  twisted  thing  with  a 
countenance  of  sardonic  sagacity.  As  he  looked  he  began  to 
see  perverse,  insidious  resemblances  to  the  physician  himself. 
When  Schulze  reappeared  and  busied  himself  writing,  he 
looked  from  the  stone  face  to  the  face  of  flesh  writh  fascinated 
repulsion — the  man  and  the  "  familiar  "  were  so  ghastly  alike. 

15 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Then  he  suddenly  understood  that  this  was  a  quaint  double  jest 
of  the  eccentric  physician's — his  grim  fling  at  his  lack  of  physi 
cal  charm,  his  ironic  jeer  at  the  superstitions  of  Saint  X. 

"There!"  said  Schulze,  looking  up.  "  That's  the  best  I 
can  do  for  you." 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?" 

"  You  wouldn't  know  if  I  told  you." 

"Is  it  serious?" 

"  In  this  world  everything  is  serious — and  nothing." 

"Will  I  die?" 

Schulze  slowly  surveyed  all  Hiram's  outward  signs  of 
majesty  that  had  been  denied  his  own  majestic  intellect,  noted 
the  tremendous  figure,  the  shoulders,  the  forehead,  the  massive 
brow  and  nose  and  chin — an  ensemble  of  unabused  power,  the 
handiwork  of  Nature  at  her  best,  a  creation  worth  while,  worth 
preserving  intact  and  immortal. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  satiric  bitterness;  "  you  will  have 
to  die,  and  rot,  just  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  Tell  me!  "  Hiram  commanded.     "  Will  I  die  soon?  " 

Schulze  reflected,  rubbing  his  red-button  nose  with  his 
stubby  fingers.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  had  a  sad  gentleness. 
"  You  can  bear  hearing  it.  You  have  the  right  to  know."  He 
leaned  back,  paused,  said  in  a  low  tone:  "Put  your  house  in 
order,  Mr.  Ranger." 

Hiram's  steadfast  gray  eyes  met  bravely  the  eyes  of  the 
man  who  had  just  read  him  his  death  warrant.  A  long  pause ; 
then  Hiram  said  "  Thank  you,"  in  his  quiet,  calm  way. 

He  took  the  prescriptions,  went  out  into  the  street.  It 
looked  strange  to  him;  he  felt  like  a  stranger  in  that  town 
where  he  had  spent  half  a  century — felt  like  a  temporary  ten 
ant  of  that  vast,  strong  body  of  his  which  until  now  had 
seemed  himself.  And  he — or  was  it  the  stranger  within  him? 
— kept  repeating:  "  Put  your  house  in  order.  Put  your  house 
in  order." 


16 


CHAPTER  II 

OF   SOMEBODIES   AND   NOBODIES 

T  the  second  turning  Arthur  rounded  the  tan 
dem  out  of  Jefferson  street  into  Willow  with 
a  skill  that  delighted  both  him  and  his  sister. 
"  But  why  go  that  way?"  said  she.  "Why 
not  through  Monroe  street?  I'm  sure  the 
horses  would  behave." 

"  Better  not  risk  it,"  replied  Arthur,  showing  that  he,  too, 
had  had,  but  had  rejected,  the  temptation  to  parade  the 
crowded  part  of  town.  "  Even  if  the  horses  didn't  act  up,  the 
people  might,  they're  such  jays." 

Adelaide's  estimate  of  what  she  and  her  brother  had  ac 
quired  in  the  East  was  as  high  as  was  his,  and  she  had  the  same 
unflattering  opinion  of  those  who  lacked  it.  But  it  ruffled  her 
to  hear  him  call  the  home  folks  jays — just  as  it  would  have 
ruffled  him  had  she  been  the  one  to  make  the  slighting  remark. 
"If  you  invite  people's  opinion,"  said  she,  "  you've  no  right  to 
sneer  at  them  because  they  don't  say  what  you  wanted." 

"  But  7'm  not  driving  for  show  if  you  are,"  he  retorted, 
with  a  testiness  that  was  confession. 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  was  her  answer.  "  You  know  you 
wouldn't  take  all  this  trouble  on  a  desert  island." 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  admitted,  "  but  I  don't  care  for  the 
opinion  of  any  but  those  capable  of  appreciating." 

"  And  those  capable  of  appreciating  are  only  those  who 
approve,"  teased  Adelaide.  "  Why  drive  tandem  among  these 
'jays?" 

"  To  keep  my  hand  in,"  replied  he ;  and  his  adroit  escape 
restored  his  good  humor. 

'7 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  I  wish  I  were  as  free  from  vanity  as  you  are,  Arthur, 
dear,"  said  she. 

"  You're  just  as  fond  of  making  a  sensation  as  I  am,"  re 
plied  he.  "  And,  my  eye,  Del !  but  you  do  know  how."  This 
with  an  admiring  glance  at  her  most  becoming  hat  with  its 
great,  gracefully  draped  chiffon  veil,  and  at  her  dazzling  white 
dust-coat  with  its  deep  blue  facings  that  matched  her  eyes. 

She  laughed.  "  Just  wait  till  you  see  my  new  dresses— ~ 
and  hats." 

"  Another  shock  for  your  poor  father." 

"  Shock  of  joy." 

"Yes,"  assented  Arthur,  rather  glumly;  "he'll  take  any 
thing  off  you.  But  when  I " 

"  It's  no  compliment  to  me,"  she  cut  in,  the  prompter  to 
admit  the  truth  because  it  would  make  him  feel  better.  "  He 
thinks  I'm  '  only  a  woman,'  fit  for  nothing  but  to  look  pretty 
as  long  as  I'm  a  girl,  and  then  to  devote  myself  to  a  husband 
and  children,  without  any  life  or  even  ideas  of  my  own." 

"  Mother  always  seems  cheerful  enough,"  said  Arthur. 
His  content  with  the  changed  conditions  which  the  prosperity 
and  easy-going  generosity  of  the  elder  generation  were  making 
for  the  younger  generation  ended  at  his  own  sex.  The  new 
woman — idle  and  frivolous,  ignorant  of  all  useful  things,  fit 
only  for  the  show  side  of  life  and  caring  only  for  it,  discontented 
with  everybody  but  her  own  selfish  self — Arthur  had  a  reputa 
tion  among  his  friends  for  his  gloomy  view  of  the  American 
woman  and  for  his  courage  in  expressing  it. 

"  You  are  so  narrow-minded,  Artie !  "  his  sister  exclaimed 
impatiently.  "  Mother  was  brought  up  very  differently  from 
the  way  she  and  father  have  brought  me  up " 

"  Have  let  you  bring  yourself  up." 

"  No  matter ;  I  am  different." 

"  But  what  would  you  do?     What  can  a  woman  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  admitted.  "  But  I  do  know  I  hate 
a  humdrum  life."  There  was  the  glint  of  the  Ranger  will  in 
her  eyes  as  she  added:  "Furthermore,  I  shan't  stand  for  it." 

He  looked  at  her  enviously.  "You'll  be  free  in  another 

18 


OF    SOMEBODIES    AND    NOBODIES 

year,"  he  said.  "  You  and  Ross  Whitney  will  marry,  and 
you'll  have  a  big  house  in  Chicago  and  can  do  what  you  please 
and  go  where  you  please." 

"  Not  if  Ross  should  turn  out  to  be  the  sort  of  man  you 
are." 

He  laughed.  "  I  can  see  Ross — or  any  man — trying  to 
manage  you  \  You've  got  too  much  of  father  in  you." 

"  But  I'll  be  dependent  until — "  Adelaide  paused,  then 
added  a  satisfactorily  vague,  "  for  a  long  time.  Father  won't 
give  me  anything.  How  furious  he'd  be  at  the  very  sugges 
tion  of  dowry.  Parents  out  here  don't  appreciate  that  condi 
tions  have  changed  and  that  it's  necessary  nowadays  for  a 
woman  to  be  independent  of  her  husband." 

Arthur  compressed  his  lips,  to  help  him  refrain  from  com 
ment.  But  he  felt  so  strongly  on  the  subject  that  he  couldn't 
let  her  remarks  pass  unchallenged.  "  I  don't  know  about 
that,  Del,"  he  said.  "  It  depends  on  the  woman.  Person 
ally,  I'd  hate  to  be  married  to  a  woman  I  couldn't  control  if 
necessary." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  cried  Del,  indig 
nant.  "  Is  that  your  idea  of  control — to  make  a  woman  mer 
cenary  and  hypocritical?  You'd  better  change  your  way  of 
thinking  if  you  don't  want  Janet  to  be  very  unhappy,  and 
yourself,  too." 

"  That  sounds  well,"  he  retorted,  "  but  you  know  better. 
Take  our  case,  for  instance.  Is  it  altogether  love  and  affec 
tion  that  make  us  so  cautious  about  offending  father?" 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  said  Adelaide.     "  I'm  not  cautious." 

"  Do  try  to  argue  fair,  even  if  you  are  a  woman.  You're 
as  cautious  in  your  way  as  I  am  in  mine." 

Adelaide  felt  that  he  was  offended,  and  justly.  "  I  didn't 
mean  quite  what  I  said,  Artie.  You  are  cautious,  in  a  way, 
and  sometimes.  But  often  you're  reckless.  I'm  frightened 
every  once  in  a  while  by  it,  and  I'm  haunted  by  the  dread  that 
there'll  be  a  collision  between  father  and  you.  You're  so  much 
alike,  and  you  understand  each  other  less  and  less,  all  the 
time." 

19 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

After  a  silence  Arthur  said,  thoughtfully :  "  I  think  I  un 
derstand  him.  There  are  two  distinct  persons  inside  of  me. 
There's  the  one  that  was  made  by  inheritance  and  by  my  sur 
roundings  as  a  boy — the  one  that's  like  him,  the  one  that 
enables  me  to  understand  him.  Then,  there's  this  other  that's 
been  made  since — in  the  East,  and  going  round  among  people 
that  either  never  knew  the  sort  of  life  we  had  as  children  or 
have  grown  away  from  it.  The  problem  is  how  to  reconcile 
those  two  persons  so  that  they'll  stop  wrangling  and  shaming 
each  other.  "  That's  my  problem,  I  mean.  Father's  prob 
lem —  He  doesn't  know  he  has  one.  I  must  do  as  he  wishes 
or  I'll  not  be  at  all,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned." 

Another  and  longer  silence ;  then  Adelaide,  after  an  uneasy, 
affectionate  look  at  his  serious  profile,  said:  "  I'm  often  ashamed 
of  myself,  Artie — about  father;  I  don't  think  I'm  a  hypocrite, 
for  I  do  love  him  dearly.  Who  could  help  it,  when  he  is 
so  indulgent  and  when  even  in  his  anger  he's  kind?  But  you — 
Oh,  Artie,  even  though  you  are  less,  much  less,  uncandid  with 
him  than  I  am,  still  isn't  it  more — more — less  manly  in  you? 
After  all,  I'm  a  woman  and  helpless ;  and,  if  I  seriously  offend 
him,  what  would  become  of  me?  But  you're  a  man.  The 
world  was  made  for  men ;  they  can  make  their  own  way.  And 
it  seems  unworthy  of  you  to  be  afraid  to  be  yourself  before  any 
body.  And  I'm  sure  it's  demoralizing." 

She  spoke  so  sincerely  that  he  could  not  have  resented  it, 
even  had  her  words  raised  a  far  feebler  echo  within  him.  "  I 
don't  honestly  believe,  Del,  that  my  caution  with  father  is 
from  fear  of  his  shutting  down  on  me,  any  more  than  yours  is," 
he  replied.  "  I  know  he  cares  for  me.  And  often  I  don't 
let  him  see  me  as  I  am  simply  because  it'd  hurt  him  if  he  knew 
how  differently  I  think  and  feel  about  a  lot  of  things." 

"  But  are  you  right? — or  is  he?  " 

Arthur  did  not  answer  immediately.  He  had  forgotten  his 
horses ;  they  were  jogging  along,  heads  down  and  "  form  " 
gone.  "What  do  you  think?"  he  finally  asked. 

"  I — I  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind." 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  drudge  and  slave,  as  he  has? 


OF    SOMEBODIES   AND    NOBODIES 

Do  you  think  I  ought  to  spend  my  life  in  making  money,  in 
dealing  in  flour?     Isn't  there  something  better  than  that?" 

"  I  don't  think  it's  what  a  man  deals  in ;  I  think  it's  how 
he  deals.  And  I  don't  believe  there's  any  sort  of  man  finer  and 
better  than  father,  Arthur." 

"  That's  true,"  he  assented  warmly.  "  I  used  to  envy  the 
boys  at  college — some  of  them — because  their  fathers  and 
mothers  had  so  much  culture  and  knowledge  of  the  world. 
But  when  I  came  to  know  their  parents  better — and  them,  too 
— I  saw  how  really  ignorant  and  vulgar — yes,  vulgar — they 
were,  under  their  veneer  of  talk  and  manner  which  they 
thought  was  everything.  *  They  may  be  fit  to  stand  before 
kings,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  but  my  father  is  a  king — and  of  a 
sort  they  ain't  fit  to  stand  before/  " 

The  color  was  high  in  Del's  cheeks  and  her  eyes  were 
brilliant.  "  You'll  come  out  all  right,  Artie,"  said  she.  "  I 
don't  know  just  how,  but  you'll  do  something,  and  do  it 
well." 

"  I'd  much  rather  do  nothing — well,"  said  he  lightly,  as  if 
not  sure  whether  he  was  in  earnest  or  not.  "  It's  so  much 
nicer  to  dream  than  to  do."  He  looked  at  her  with  good- 
humored  satire.  "  And  you — what's  the  matter  with  your 
practising  some  of  the  things  you  preach?  Why  don't  you 
marry — say,  Dory  Hargrave,  instead  of  Ross?" 

She  made  a  failure  of  a  stout  attempt  to  meet  his  eyes  and 
to  smile  easily.  "  Because  I  don't  love  Dory  Hargrave,"  she 
said. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  let  yourself  if  you  could — would  you, 
now?" 

"  It's  a  poor  love  that  lags  for  let,"  she  replied.  "  Besides, 
why  talk  about  me?  I'm  'only  a  woman.'  I  haven't  any 
career,  or  any  chance  to  make  one." 

"  But  you  might  help  some  man,"  he  teased. 

"Then  you'd  like  me  to  marry  Dory — if  I  could?" 

"  I'm  just  showing  you  how  vain  your  theorizing  is,"  was 
his  not  altogether  frank  reply.  "  You  urge  me  to  despise 

money  when  you  yourself " 

21 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

;<  That  isn't  fair,  Arthur.  If  I  didn't  care  for  Ross  I 
shouldn't  think  of  marrying  him,  and  you  know  it." 

"  He's  so  like  father!  "  mocked  Arthur. 

"  No,  but  he's  so  like  you"  she  retorted.  "  You  know  he 
was  your  ideal  for  years.  It  was  your  praising  him  that — that 
first  made  me  glad  to  do  as  father  and  mother  wished.  You 
know  father  approves  of  him." 

Arthur  grinned,  and  Del  colored.  "  A  lot  father  knows 
about  Ross  as  he  really  is,"  said  he.  "  Oh,  he's  clever  about 
what  he  lets  father  see.  However,  you  do  admit  there's  some 
other  ideal  of  man  than  successful  workingman." 

"Of  course!"  said  Adelaide.  "I'm  not  so  silly  and  nar 
row  as  you  try  to  make  out.  Only,  I  prefer  a  combination  of 
the  two.  And  I  think  Ross  is  that,  and  I  hope  and  believe  he'll 
be  more  so — afterwards." 

Adelaide's  tone  was  so  judicial  that  Arthur  thought  it  dis 
creet  not  to  discuss  his  friend  and  future  brother-in-law  further. 
"  He  isn't  good  enough  for  Del,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  But, 
then,  who  is?  And  he'll  help  her  to  the  sort  of  setting  she's 
best  fitted  for.  What  side  they'll  put  on,  once  they  get  going! 
She'll  set  a  new  pace — and  it'll  be  a  grand  one." 

At  the  top  of  the  last  curve  in  the  steep  road  up  from  Deer 
Creek  the  horses  halted  of  themselves  to  rest;  Arthur  and  his 
sister  gazed  out  upon  the  vast,  dreamy  vision — miles  on  miles 
of  winding  river  shimmering  through  its  veil  of  silver  mist, 
stately  hills  draped  in  gauziest  blue.  It  was  such  uplifting 
vistas  that  inspired  the  human  imagination,  in  the  days  of  its 
youth,  to  breathe  a  soul  into  the  universe  and  make  it  a  living 
thing,  palpitant  with  love  and  hope;  it  was  an  outlook  that 
would  have  moved  the  narrowest,  the  smallest,  to  think  in  the 
wide  and  the  large.  Wherever  the  hills  were  not  based  close 
to  the  water's  edge  or  rose  less  abruptly,  there  were  cultivated 
fields ;  and  in  each  field,  far  or  near,  men  were  at  work.  These 
broad-hatted,  blue-shirted  toilers  in  the  ardent  sun  determined 
the  turn  of  Adelaide's  thoughts. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  right,  does  it,"  said  she,  "  that  so  many — 
almost  everybody — should  have  to  work  so  hard  just  to  get 

22 


OF    SOMEBODIES    AND    NOBODIES 

enough  to  eat  and  to  wear  and  a  place  to  sleep,  when  there's 
so  much  of  everything  in  the  world — and  when  a  few  like  us 
don't  have  to  work  at  all  and  have  much  more  than  they  need, 
simply  because  one  happened  to  be  born  in  such  or  such  condi 
tions.  I  suppose  it's  got  to  be  so,  but  it  certainly  looks  unjust 
— and  silly." 

"  I'm  not  sure  the  workers  haven't  the  best  of  it,"  replied 
Arthur.  "  They  have  the  dinner ;  we  have  only  the  dessert ; 
and  I  guess  one  gets  tired  of  only  desserts,  no  matter  how  great 
the  variety." 

"  It's  a  stupid  world  in  lots  of  ways,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Not  so  stupid  as  it  used  to  be,  when  everybody  said  and 
thought  it  was  as  good  as  possible,"  replied  he.  "  You  see,  it's 
the  people  in  the  world  that  make  it  stupid.  For  instance,  do 
you  suppose  you  and  I,  or  anybody,  would  care  for  idling  about 
and  doing  all  sorts  of  things  our  better  judgment  tells  us  are 
inane,  if  it  weren't  that  most  of  our  fellow-beings  are  stupid 
enough  to  admire  and  envy  that  sort  of  thing,  and  that  we  are 
stupid  enough  to  want  to  be  admired  and  envied  by  stupid 
people?" 

"  Did  you  notice  the  Sandys's  English  butler?  "  asked  Ade 
laide. 

"  Did  I?  I'll  bet  he  keeps  every  one  in  the  Sandys  family 
up  to  the  mark." 

"  That's  it,"  continued  Adelaide.  "  He's  a  poor  creature, 
dumb  and  ignorant.  He  knows  only  one  thing — snobbishness. 
Yet  every  one  of  us  was  in  terror  of  his  opinion.  No  doubt 
kings  feel  the  same  way  about  the  people  around  them.  Al 
ways  what's  expected  of  us — and  by  whom?  Why,  by  people 
who  have  little  sense  and  less  knowledge.  They  run  the  world, 
don't  they?" 

"  As  Dory  Hargrave  says,"  said  her  brother,  "  the  only 
scheme  for  making  things  better  that's  worth  talking  about  is 
raising  the  standards  of  the  masses  because  their  standards 
are  ours.  We'll  be  fools  and  unjust  as  long  as  they'll  let  us. 
And  they'll  let  us  as  long  as  they're  ignorant." 

By  inheritance  Arthur  and  Adelaide  had  excellent  minds, 

23 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

shrewd  and  with  that  cast  of  humor  which  makes  for  justice 
of  judgment  by  mocking  at  the  solemn  frauds  of  interest  and 
prejudice.  But,  as  is  often  the  case  with  the  children  of  the 
rich  and  the  well-to-do,  there  had  been  no  necessity  for  either 
to  use  intellect;  their  parents  and  hirelings  of  various  degrees, 
paid  with  their  father's  generously  given  money,  had  done  their 
thinking  for  them.  The  whole  of  animate  creation  is  as  lazy 
as  it  dares  be,  and  man  is  no  exception.  Thus,  the  Ranger  chil 
dren,  like  all  other  normal  children  of  luxury,  rarely  made 
what  would  have  been,  for  their  fallow  minds,  the  arduous 
exertion  of  real  thinking.  When  their  minds  were  not  on 
pastimes  or  personalities  they  were  either  rattling  round  in 
their  heads  or  exchanging  the  ideas,  real  and  reputed,  that 
happened  to  be  drifting  about,  at  the  moment,  in  their  "  set." 
Those  ideas  they  and  their  friends  received,  and  stored  up  or 
passed  on  with  never  a  thought  as  to  whether  they  were  true 
or  false,  much  as  they  used  coins  or  notes  they  took  in  and 
paid  out.  Arthur  and  Adelaide  soon  wearied  of  their  groping 
about  in  the  mystery  of  human  society — how  little  direct  in 
terest  it  had  for  them  then !  They  drove  on ;  the  vision  which 
had  stimulated  them  to  think  vanished ;  they  took  up  again 
those  personalities  about  friends,  acquaintances  and  social  life 
that  are  to  thinking  somewhat  as  massage  is  to  exercise — all  the 
motions  of  real  activity,  but  none  of  its  spirit.  They  stopped 
for  two  calls  and  tea  on  the  fashionable  Bluffs. 

When  they  reached  home,  content  with  tandem,  drive,  them 
selves,  their  friends,  and  life  in  general,  they  found  Hiram 
Ranger  returned  from  work,  though  it  was  only  half-past  five, 
and  stretched  on  the  sofa  in  the  sitting  room,  with  his  eyes 
shut.  At  this  unprecedented  spectacle  of  inactivity  they  looked 
at  each  other  in  vague  alarm;  they  were  stealing  away,  when 
he  called :  "  I'm  not  asleep." 

His  expression  made  Adelaide  impulsively  kneel  beside  him 
and  gaze  anxiously  into  his  face.  He  smiled,  roused  himself 
to  a  sitting  posture,  well  concealing  the  effort  the  exertion  cost 
him. 

"  Your  father's  getting  old,"  he  said,  hiding  his  tragedy  of 

24 


OF    SOMEBODIES    AND    NOBODIES 

aching  body  and  aching  heart  and  impending  doom  in  a  hypoc 
risy  of  cheerfulness  that  would  have  passed  muster  even  had 
he  not  been  above  suspicion.  "  I'm  not  up  to  the  mark  of 
the  last  generation.  Your  grandfather  was  fifty  when  I  was 
born,  and  he  didn't  die  till  I  was  fifty." 

His  face  shadowed ;  Adelaide,  glancing  round  for  the  cause, 
saw  Simeon,  half-sitting,  half-standing  in  the  doorway,  humble 
apology  on  his  weazened,  whiskered  face.  He  looked  so  like 
her  memory-picture  of  her  grandfather  that  she  burst  out  laugh 
ing.  "  Don't  be  hard  on  the  poor  old  gentleman,  father,"  she 
cried.  "  How  can  you  resist  that  appeal?  Tell  him  to  come 
in  and  make  himself  at  home." 

As  her  father  did  not  answer,  she  glanced  at  him.  He  had 
not  heard  her;  he  was  staring  straight  ahead  with  an  expression 
of  fathomless  melancholy.  The  smile  faded  from  her  face, 
from  her  heart,  as  the  light  fades  before  the  oncoming  shadow 
of  night.  Presently  he  was  absent-mindedly  but  tenderly 
stroking  her  hair,  as  if  he  were  thinking  of  her  so  intensely 
that  he  had  become  unconscious  of  her  physical  presence.  The 
apparition  of  Simeon  had  set  him  to  gathering  in  gloomy  assem 
bly  a  vast  number  of  circumstances  about  his  two  children; 
each  circumstance  was  so  trivial  in  itself  that  by  itself  it  seemed 
foolishly  inconsequential ;  yet,  in  the  mass,  they  bore  upon  his 
heart,  upon  his  conscience,  so  heavily  that  his  very  shoulders 
stooped  with  the  weight.  "  Put  your  house  in  order,"  the  new 
comer  within  him  was  solemnly  warning;  and  Hiram  was  puz 
zling  over  his  meaning,  was  dreading  what  that  meaning  might 
presently  reveal  itself  to  be.  "  Put  my  house  in  order?  "  mut 
tered  Hiram,  an  inquiring  echo  of  that  voice  within. 

"  What  did  you  say,  father?"  asked  Adelaide,  timidly  lay 
ing  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Though  she  knew  he  was  simple, 
she  felt  the  vastness  in  him  that  was  awe-inspiring — just  as  a 
mountain  or  an  ocean,  a  mere  aggregation  of  simple  matter,  is 
in  the  total  majestic  and  incomprehensible.  Beside  him,  the 
complex  little  individualities  among  her  acquaintances  seemed 
like  the  acrostics  of  a  children's  puzzle  column. 

"  Leave  me  with  your  brother  awhile,"  he  said. 
3  25 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

She  glanced  quickly,  furtively  at  Arthur  and  admired  his 
self-possession — for  she  knew  his  heart  must  be  heavier  than 
her  own.  She  rose  from  her  knees,  laid  her  hand  lingeringly, 
appealingly  upon  her  father's  broad  shoulder,  then  slowly  left 
the  room.  Simeon,  forgotten,  looked  up  at  her  and  scratched 
his  head ;  he  turned  in  behind  her,  caught  the  edge  of  her  skirt 
and  bore  it  like  a  queen's  page. 

The  son  watched  the  father,  whose  powerful  features  were 
set  in  an  expression  that  seemed  stern  only  because  his  eyes  were 
hid,  gazing  steadily  at  the  floor.  It  was  the  father  who  broke 
the  silence.  "What  do  you  calculate  to  do — now?" 

"  Tutor  this  summer  and  have  another  go  at  those  exams, 
in  September.  I'll  have  no  trouble  in  rejoining  my  class.  I 
sailed  just  a  little  too  close  to  the  wind — that's  all." 

"What  does  that  mean?"  inquired  the  father.  College 
was  a  mystery  to  him,  a  deeply  respected  mystery.  He  had 
been  the  youngest  of  four  sons.  Their  mother's  dream  wras 
the  dream  of  all  the  mothers  of  those  pioneer  and  frontier  days 
— to  send  her  sons  to  college.  Each  son  in  turn  had,  with  her 
assistance,  tried  to  get  together  the  sum — so  small,  yet  so 
hugely  large — necessary  to  make  the  start.  But  fate,  now  as 
sickness,  now  as  crop  failure,  now  as  flood,  and  again  as  war, 
had  been  too  strong  for  them.  Hiram  had  come  nearest,  and 
his  defeat  had  broken  his  mother's  heart  and  almost  broken  his 
own.  It  was  therefore  with  a  sense  of  prying  into  hallowed 
mysteries  that  he  began  to  investigate  his  son's  college  career. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  Arthur  proceeded  to  explain,  "  there 
are  five  grades — A,  B,  C,  D,  and  E.  I  aimed  for  C,  but  sev 
eral  things  came  up — interfered — and  I — just  missed  D." 

"IsC  the  highest?" 

Arthur  smiled  faintly.  "  Well — not  in  one  sense.  It's 
what's  called  the  gentleman's  grade.  All  the  fellows  that  are 
the  right  sort  are  in  it — or  in  D." 

"  And  what  did  you  get?  " 

"  I  got  E.     That  means  I  have  to  try  again." 

Hiram  began  to  understand.  So  this  was  the  hallowed 
mystery  of  higher  education.  He  was  sitting  motionless,  his 

26 


OF    SOMEBODIES    AND    NOBODIES 

elbows  on  his  knees,  his  big  chest  and  shoulders  inclined  for 
ward,  his  gaze  fixed  upon  a  wreath  of  red  roses  in  the  pattern 
of  the  moquette  carpet — that  carpet  upon  which  Adelaide, 
backed  by  Arthur,  had  waged  vain  war  as  the  worst  of  the 
many,  to  cultured  nerves,  trying  exhibitions  of  "  primitive 
taste "  in  Ellen's  best  rooms.  When  Hiram  spoke  his  lips 
barely  opened  and  his  voice  had  no  expression.  His  next  ques 
tion  was:  "What  does  A  mean?" 

"  The  A  men  are  those  that  keep  their  noses  in  their  books. 
They're  a  narrow  set — have  no  ideas — think  the  book  side  is 
the  only  side  of  a  college  education." 

"  Then  you  don't  go  to  college  to  learn  what's  in  the 
books?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  the  books  are  part  of  it.  But  the  real  thing 
is  association — the  friendships  one  makes,  the  knowledge  of 
human  nature  and  of — of  life." 

"  What  does  that  mean?  " 

Arthur  had  been  answering  Hiram's  questions  in  a  flurry, 
though  he  had  been  glib  enough.  He  had  had  no  fear  that  his 
father  would  appreciate  that  he  was  getting  half-truths,  or, 
rather,  truths  prepared  skillfully  for  paternal  consumption;  his 
flurry  had  come  from  a  sense  that  he  was  himself  not  doing 
quite  the  manly,  the  courageous  thing.  Now,  however,  some 
thing  in  the  tone  of  the  last  question,  or,  perhaps,  some  element 
that  was  lacking,  roused  in  him  a  suspicion  of  depth  in  his  sim 
ple  unworldly  father;  and  swift  upon  this  awakening  came  a 
realization  that  he  was  floundering  in  that  depth — and  in  grave 
danger  of  submersion.  He  shifted  nervously  when  his  father, 
without  looking  up  and  without  putting  any  expression  into 
his  voice,  repeated :  "  What  do  you  mean  by  associations — and 
life—and—all  that?" 

"  I  can't  explain  exactly,"  replied  Arthur.  "  It  would  take 
a  long  time." 

"  I  haven't  asked  you  to  be  brief." 

"  I  can't  put  it  into  words." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  would  misunderstand." 

27 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"Why?" 

Arthur  made  no  reply. 

"  Then  you  can't  tell  me  what  you  go  to  college  for?  " 

Again  the  young  man  looked  perplexedly  at  his  father. 
There  was  no  anger  in  that  tone — no  emotion  of  any  kind. 
But  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  look,  the  look  of  a  sorrow 
that  was  tragic  ? 

"  I  know  you  think  I've  disgraced  you,  father,  and  myself," 
said  Arthur.  "  But  it  isn't  so — really,  it  isn't.  No  one,  not 
even  the  faculty,  thinks  the  less  of  me.  This  sort  of  thing 
often  occurs  in  our  set." 

"  Your  '  set '  ?  " 

"  Among  the  fellows  I  travel  with.  They're  the  nicest 
men  in  Harvard.  They're  in  all  the  best  clubs — and  lead  in 
supporting  the  athletics  and — and — their  fathers  are  among  the 
richest,  the  most  distinguished  men  in  the  country.  There  are 
only  about  twenty  or  thirty  of  us,  and  we  make  the  pace  for 
the  whole  show — the  whole  university,  I  mean.  Everybody 
admires  and  envies  us — wants  to  be  in  our  set.  Even  the 
grinds  look  up  to  us,  and  imitate  us  as  far  as  they  can.  We 
give  the  tone  to  the  university !  " 

"  What  is  '  the  tone  '  ?  " 

Again  Arthur  shifted  uneasily.  "  It's  hard  to  explain  that 
sort  of  thing.  It's  a  sort  of — of  manner.  It's  knowing  how 
to  do  the — the  right  sort  of  thing." 

"  What  is  the  right  sort  of  thing?  " 

"  I  can't  put  it  into  words.  It's  what  makes  you  look  at 
one  man  and  say,  '  He's  a  gentleman  ' ;  and  look  at  another  and 
see  that  he  isn't." 

"What  is  a  gentleman' — at  Harvard?" 

"  Just  what  it  is  anywhere." 

"  What  is  it  anywhere?  " 

Again  Arthur  was  silent. 

"  Then  there  are  only  twenty  or  thirty  gentlemen  at  Har 
vard?  And  the  catalogue  says  there  are  three  thousand  or 
more  students." 

"  Oh — of  course,"  began  Arthur.  But  he  stopped  short. 

28 


OF    SOMEBODIES    AND    NOBODIES 

How  could  he  make  his  father,  ignorant  of  "  the  world  "  and 
dominated  by  primitive  ideas,  understand  the  Harvard  ideal? 
So  subtle  and  evanescent,  so  much  a  matter  of  the  most  delicate 
shadings  was  this  ideal  that  he  himself  often  found  the  distinc 
tion  quite  hazy  between  it  and  that  \\diich  looked  disquietingly 
like  "  tommy  rot." 

"  And  these  gentlemen — these  here  friends  of  yours — your 
'  set,'  as  you  call  'em — what  are  they  aiming  for?  " 

Arthur  did  not  answer.  It  would  be  hopeless  to  try  to 
make  Hiram  Ranger  understand,  still  less  tolerate,  an  ideal  of 
life  that  was  elegant  leisure,  the  patronage  of  literature  and  art, 
music,  the  drama,  the  turf,  and  the  pursuit  of  culture  and 
polite  extravagance,  wholly  aloof  from  the  frenzied  and  vulgar 
jostling  of  the  market  place. 

With  a  mighty  heave  of  the  shoulders  which,  if  it  had  found 
outward  relief,  would  have  been  a  sigh,  Hiram  Ranger  ad 
vanced  to  the  hard  part  of  the  first  task  which  the  mandate, 
"  Put  your  house  in  order,"  had  set  for  him.  He  took  from 
the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  a  small  bundle  of  papers,  the  records 
of  Arthur's  college  expenses.  The  idea  of  accounts  with  his 
children  had  been  abhorrent  to  him.  The  absolute  necessity  of 
business  method  had  forced  him  to  make  some  records,  and 
these  he  had  expected  to  destroy  without  anyone  but  himself 
knowing  of  their  existence.  But  in  the  new  circumstances  he 
felt  he  must  not  let  his  own  false  shame  push  the  young  man 
still  farther  from  the  right  course.  Arthur  watched  him  open 
each  paper  in  the  bundle  slowly,  spread  it  out  and,  to  put  off 
the  hateful  moment  for  speech,  pretend  to  peruse  it  deliberately 
before  'aying  it  on  his  knee;  and,  dim  though  the  boy's  con 
ception  of  his  father  was,  he  did  not  misjudge  the  feelings 
behind  that  painful  reluctance.  Hiram  held  the  last  paper  in 
a  hand  that  trembled.  He  coughed,  made  several  attempts  to 
speak,  finally  began :  "  Your  first  year  at  Harvard,  you  spent 
seventeen  hundred  dollars.  Your  second  year,  you  spent  fifty- 
three  hundred.  Last  year —  Are  all  your  bills  in?  " 

'  There  are  a  few — "  murmured  Arthur. 

"How  much?" 

29 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

He  flushed  hotly. 

"  Don't  you  know?  "  With  this  question  his  father  lifted 
his  eyes  without  lifting  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 

"  About  four  or  five  thousand — in  all — including  the  tailors 
and  other  tradespeople." 

A  pink  spot  appeared  in  the  left  cheek  of  the  old  man — 
very  bright  against  the  gray-white  of  his  skin.  Somehow,  he 
did  not  like  that  word  "  tradespeople,"  though  it  seemed  harm 
less  enough.  "  This  last  year,  the  total  was,"  said  he,  still 
monotonously,  "  ninety-eight  hundred  odd — if  the  bills  I  haven't 
got  yet  ain't  more  than  five  thousand." 

"  A  dozen  men  spend  several  times  that  much,"  protested 
Arthur. 

"  What  for?  "  inquired  Hiram. 

"  Not  for  dissipation,  father,"  replied  the  young  man, 
eagerly.  "  Dissipation  is  considered  bad  form  in  our  set." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  dissipation?  " 

"  Drinking — and — all  that  sort  of  thing,"  Arthur  replied. 
"  It's  considered  ungentlemanly,  nowadays — drinking  to  excess^ 
I  mean." 

"  What  do  you  spend  the  money  for?  " 

"  For  good  quarters  and  pictures,  and  patronizing  the  sports* 
and  club  dues,  and  entertainments,  and  things  to  drive  in — foi 
living  as  a  man  should." 

"  You've  spent  a  thousand,  three  hundred  dollars  for  tu 
toring  since  you've  been  there." 

"  Everybody  has  to  do  tutoring — more  or  less." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  money  you  made?  " 

"  What  money,  father?  " 

"  The  money  you  made  tutoring.  You  said  everybody  had 
to  do  tutoring.  I  suppose  you  did  your  share." 

Arthur  did  not  smile  at  this  "  ignorance  of  the  world  " ;  he 
grew  red,  and  stammered:  "Oh,  I  meant  everybody  in  our 
set  employs  tutors." 

"Then  who  does  the  tutoring?  Who're  the  nobodies  that 
tutor  the  everybodies?  " 

Arthur  grew  cold,  then  hot.     He  was  cornered,  therefore 

30 


OF    SOMEBODIES    AND    NOBODIES 

roused.  He  stood,  leaned  against  the  table,  faced  his  father 
defiantly.  "  I  see  what  you're  driving  at,  father,"  he  said. 
"  You  feel  I've  wasted  time  and  money  at  college,  because  I 
haven't  lived  like  a  dog  and  grubbed  in  books  day  in  and  day 
out,  and  filled  my  head  with  musty  stuff;  because  I've  tried  to 
get  what  I  believe  to  be  the  broadest  knowledge  and  experience ; 
because  I've  associated  with  the  best  men,  the  fellows  that  come 
from  the  good  families.  You  accept  the  bluff  the  faculty  puts 
up  of  pretending  the  A  fellows  are  really  the  A  fellows,  when, 
in  fact,  everybody  there  and  all  the  graduates  and  everyone 
everywhere  who  knows  the  world  knows  that  the  fellows  in 
our  set  are  the  ones  the  university  is  proud  of — the  fellows  with 
manners  and  appearance  and " 

"  The  gentlemen,"  interjected  the  father,  who  had  not 
changed  either  his  position  or  his  expression. 

"Yes — the  gentlemen!"  exclaimed  Arthur.  "  There  are 
other  ideals  of  life  besides  buying  and  selling." 

"  And  working?"  suggested  Hiram. 

"  Yes — and  what  you  call  working,"  retorted  Arthur, 
angry  through  and  through.  "  You  sent  me  East  to  college  to 
get  the  education  of  a  man  in  my  position." 

"What  is  your  position?"  inquired  Hiram — simply  an 
inquiry. 

"  Your  son,"  replied  the  young  man ;  "  trying  to  make  the 
best  use  of  the  opportunities  you've  worked  so  hard  to  get  for 
me.  I'm  not  you,  father.  You'd  despise  me  if  I  didn't  have  a 
character,  an  individuality,  of  my  own.  Yet,  because  I  can't 
see  life  as  you  see  it,  you  are  angry  with  me." 

For  answer  Hiram  only  heaved  his  great  shoulders  in  an 
other  suppressed  sigh.  He  knew  profoundly  that  he  was  right, 
yet  his  son's  plausibilities — they  could  only  be  plausibilities — 
put  him  clearly  in  the  wrong.  "  We'll  see,"  he  said ;  "  we'll 
see.  You're  wrong  in  thinking  I'm  angry,  boy."  He  was  look 
ing  at  his  son  now,  and  his  eyes  made  his  son's  passion  vanish. 
He  got  up  and  wrent  to  the  young  man  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder  in  a  gesture  of  affection  that  moved  the  son  the  more 
profoundly  because  it  was  unprecedented.  "If  there's  been  any 

31 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

wrong  done,"  said  the  old  man — and  he  looked  very,  very  old 
now — "  I've  done  it.  I'm  to  blame — not  you." 

A  moment  after  Hiram  left  the  room,  Adelaide  hurried  in. 
A  glance  at  her  brother  reassured  her.  They  stood  at  the  win 
dow  watching  their  father  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
garden,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  shoulders  stooped,  his 
powerful  head  bent. 

"  Was  he  very  angry?  "  asked  Del. 

"  He  wasn't  angry  at  all,"  her  brother  replied.  "  I'd  much 
rather  he  had  been."  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added :  "  I  thought 
the  trouble  between  us  was  that,  while  I  understood  him,  he 
didn't  understand  me.  Now  I  know  that  he  has  understood 
me  but  that  I  don't  understand  him  " — and,  after  a  pause—- 
"  or  myself." 


CHAPTER    III 

MRS.   WHITNEY   INTERVENES 

'S  Hiram  had  always  been  silent  and  seemingly 
abstracted,  no  one  but  Ellen  noted  the  radical 
change  in  him.  She  had  brought  up  her  chil 
dren  in  the  old-fashioned  way — her  thoughts, 
and  usually  her  eyes,  upon  them  all  day,  and 
one  ear  open  all  night.  When  she  no  longer 
had  them  to  guard,  she  turned  all  this  energy  of  solicitude  to 
her  husband ;  thus  the  passionate  love  of  her  youth  was  having 
a  healthy,  beautiful  old  age.  The  years  of  circumventing  the 
easily  roused  restiveness  of  her  spirited  boy  and  girl  had  taught 
her  craft;  without  seeming  to  be  watching  Hiram,  no  detail  of 
his  appearance  or  actions  escaped  her. 

"  There's  mighty  little  your  pa  don't  see,"  had  been  one  of 
her  stock  observations  to  the  children  from  their  earliest  days. 
"  And  you  needn't  flatter  yourselves  he  don't  care  because  he 
don't  speak."  Now  she  noted  that  from  under  his  heavy  brows 
his  eyes  were  looking  stealthily  out,  more  minutely  observant 
than  ever  before,  and  that  what  he  saxv  either  added  to  his 
sadness  or  took  a  color  of  sadness  from  his  mood.  She  guessed 
that  the  actions  of  Adelaide  and  Arthur,  so  utterly  different 
from  the  actions  of  the  children  of  her  and  Hiram's  young 
days — except  those  regarded  by  all  worth-while  people  as 
"  trifling  and  trashy  " — had  something  to  do  with  Hiram's 
gloom.  She  decided  that  Arthur's  failure  and  his  lightness  of 
manner  in  face  of  it  were  the  chief  trouble — this  until  Hiram's 
shoulders  began  to  stoop  and  hollows  to  appear  in  his  cheeks 
and  under  his  ears,  and  a  waxlike  pallor  to  overspread  his  face. 
Then  she  knew  that  he  was  not  well  physically;  and,  being  a 

33 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

practical  woman,  she  dismissed  the  mental  causes  of  the  change. 
"  People  talk  a  lot  about  their  mental  troubles,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  but  it's  usually  three-fourths  stomach  and  liver." 

As  Hiram  and  illness,  real  illness,  could  not  be  associated 
in  her  mind,  she  gave  the  matter  no  importance  until  she 
heard  him  sigh  heavily  one  night,  after  they  had  been  in  bed 
several  hours.  "What  is  it,  father?"  she  asked. 

There  was  no  answer,  but  a  return  to  an  imitation  of  the 
regular  breathing  of  a  sleeper. 

"  Hiram,"  she  insisted,  "  what  is  it?  " 

"  Nothing,  Ellen,  nothing,"  he  answered ;  "  I  must  have  ate 
something  that  don't  sit  quite  right." 

"  You  didn't  take  no  supper  at  all,"  said  she. 

This  reminded  him  how  useless  it  was  to  try  to  deceive  her. 
"  I  ain't  been  feeling  well  of  late,"  he  confessed,  "  but  it'll  soon 
be  over."  He  did  not  see  the  double  meaning  of  his  words 
until  he  had  uttered  them ;  he  stirred  uneasily  in  his  dread  that 
she  would  suspect.  "  I  went  to  the  doctor." 

"  What  did  he  say? — though  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
ask  what  such  a  fool  as  Milbury  said  about  anything." 

"  I  got  some  medicine,"  replied  he,  evading  telling  her  what 
doctor. 

Instantly  she  sat  up  in  bed.  "  I  haven't  seen  you  take  no 
drugs !  "  she  exclaimed.  Drugs  were  her  especial  abhorrence. 
She  let  no  one  in  the  family  take  any  until  she  had  passed 
upon  them. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  make  a  fuss,"  he  explained. 

"  Where  is  it?  "  she  demanded,  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  now, 
ready  to  rise. 

"  I'll  show  it  to  you  in  the  morning,  mother.  Lie  down  and 
go  to  sleep.  I've  been  awake  long  enough." 

"Where  is  it?"  she  repeated,  and  he  heard  her  moving 
across  the  room  toward  the  gas  fixture. 

"  In  my  vest  pocket.  It's  a  box  of  pills.  You  can't  tell 
nothin'  about  it." 

She  lit  the  gas  and  went  to  his  waistcoat,  hanging  where 
it  always  hung  at  night — on  a  hook  beside  the  closet  door.  He 

34 


MRS.    WHITNEY    INTERVENES 

watched  her  fumble  through  the  pockets,  watched  her  take  her 
spectacles  from  the  corner  of  the  mantel  and  put  them 
on,  the  bridge  well  down  toward  the  end  of  her  nose. 
A  not  at  all  romantic  figure  she  made,  standing  beside  the 
sputtering  gas  jet,  her  spectacles  balanced  on  her  nose,  her 
thin  neck  and  forearms  exposed,  and  her  old  face  studying  the 
lid  of  the  pill  box  held  in  her  toil-  and  age-worn  hands.  The 
box  dropped  from  her  fingers  and  rolled  along  the  floor.  He 
saw  an  awful  look  slowly  creep  over  her  features  as  the  terrible 
thought  crept  over  her  mind.  As  she  began  to  turn  her  face 
toward  him,  with  a  motion  of  the  head  like  that  of  a  machine 
on  unoiled  bearings,  he  closed  his  eyes;  but  he  felt  her  looking 
at  him. 

"  Dr.  Schulze!  "  she  said,  an  almost  soundless  breathing  of 
the  name  that  always  meant  the  last  resort  in  mortal  illness. 

He  was  trying  to  think  of  lies  to  tell  her,  but  he  could 
think  of  nothing.  The  sense  of  light  upon  his  eyelids  ceased. 
He  presently  felt  her  slowly  getting  into  bed.  A  pall-like  si 
lence;  then  upon  his  cheek,  in  long  discontinued  caress,  a  hand 
whose  touch  was  as  light  and  soft  as  the  fall  of  a  rose  leaf 
— the  hand  of  love  that  toil  and  age  cannot  make  harsh,  and 
her  fingers  were  wet  with  her  tears.  Thus  they  lay  in  the 
darkness  and  silence,  facing  together  the  tragedy  of  the  eternal 
separation. 

"  What  did  he  say,  dearest?  "  she  asked.  She  had  not  used 
that  word  to  him  since  the  first  baby  came  and  they  began  to 
call  each  other  "  father  "  and  "  mother."  All  these  years  the 
children  had  been  between  them,  and  each  had  held  the  other 
important  chiefly  as  related  to  them.  Now  it  was  as  in  their 
youth — just  he  and  she,  so  close  that  only  death  could  come 
between  them. 

"  It's  a  long  way  off,"  said  Hiram.  He  would  not  set 
ringing  in  her  ears  that  knell  which  was  clanging  to  him  its 
solemn,  incessant,  menacing  "  Put  your  house  in  order!" 

"  Tell  me  what  he  said,"  she  urged  gently. 

"  He  couldn't  make  out  exactly.     The  medicine'll  patch 


me  up." 


35 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

She  did  not  insist — why  fret  him  to  confess  what  she 
knew  the  instant  she  read  "  Schulze  "  on  the  box?  After  an 
hour  she  heard  him  breathing  as  only  a  sleeper  can  breathe;  but 
she  watched  on  until  morning.  When  they  were  dressing,  each 
looked  at  the  other  furtively  from  time  to  time,  a  great  tender 
ness  in  his  eyes,  and  in  hers  the  anguish  of  a  dread  that  might 
not  be  spoken. 


On  the  day  after  Mrs.  Whitney's  arrival  for  the  summer, 
she  descended  in  state  from  the  hills  to  call  upon  the  Rangers. 

When  the  front  bell  rang  Mrs.  Ranger  was  in  the  kitchen 
— and  was  dressed  for  the  kitchen.  As  the  "  girl  "  still  had 
not  been  replaced  she  answered  the  door  herself.  In  a  gingham 
wrapper,  with  her  glasses  thrust  up  into  her  gray  hair,  she 
was  facing  a  footman  in  livery. 

"Are  Mrs.  Ranger  and  Miss  Ranger  at  home?  "  asked  he, 
mistaking  her  for  a  servant  and  eying  her  dishevelment  with 
an  expression  which  was  not  lost  on  her. 

She  smiled  with  heartiest  good  nature.  "  Yes,  I'm  here — 
I'm  Mrs.  Ranger,"  said  she ;  and  she  looked  beyond  him  to  the 
victoria  in  which  sat  Mrs.  Whitney.  "  How  d'ye  do,  Ma 
tilda?  "  she  called.  "  Come  right  in.  As  usual  when  the  can 
neries  are  running,  I'm  my  own  upstairs  girl.  I  reckon  your 
young  man  here  thinks  I  ought  to  discharge  her  and  get  one 
that's  tidier." 

"  Your  young  man  here  "  was  stiffly  touching  the  brim  of 
his  top  hat  and  saying:  "  Beg  parding,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  replied  Mrs.  Ranger;  "  I  am  what 
I  look  to  be!" 

Behind  her  now  appeared  Adelaide,  her  cheeks  burning 
in  mortification  she  was  ashamed  of  feeling  and  still  more 
ashamed  of  being  unable  to  conceal.  "  Go  and  put  on  some 
thing  else,  mother,"  she  urged  in  an  undertone;  "I'll  look 
after  Mrs.  Whitney  till  you  come  down." 

"  Ain't  got  time,"  replied  her  mother,  conscious  of  what 
was  in  her  daughter's  mind  and  a  little  contemptuous  and  a 

36 


MRS.    WHITNEY    INTERVENES 

little  resentful  of  it.    "  I  guess  Tilly  Whitney  will  understand. 
If  she  don't,  why,  I  guess  we  can  bear  up  under  it." 

Mrs.  Whitney  had  left  her  carriage  and  was  advancing  up 
the  steps.  She  \vas  a  year  older  than  Ellen  Ranger;  but  so 
skillfully  was  she  got  together  that,  had  she  confessed  to  forty 
or  even  thirty-eight,  one  who  didn't  know  would  have  accepted 
her  statement  as  too  cautious  by  hardly  more  than  a  year  or 
so.  The  indisputably  artificial  detail  in  her  elegant  appearance 
was  her  hair;  its  tinting,  which  had  to  be  made  stronger  year 
by  year  as  the  gray  grew  more  resolute,  was  reaching  the 
stage  of  hard,  rough-looking  red.  "  Another  year  or  two," 
thought  Adelaide,  "  and  it'll  make  her  face  older  than  she 
really  is.  Even  now  she's  getting  a  tough  look." 

Matilda  kissed  Mrs.  Ranger  and  Adelaide  affectedly  on 
both  cheeks.  "  I'm  so  glad  to  find  you  in!  "  said  she.  "  And 
you,  poor  dear  " — this  to  Mrs.  Ranger — "  are  in  agony  over 
the  servant  question."  She  glanced  behind  her  to  make  sure 
the  carriage  had  driven  away.  "  I  don't  know  what  we're 
coming  to.  I  can't  keep  a  man  longer  than  six  months. 
Servants  don't  appreciate  a  good  home  and  good  wages. 
As  soon  as  a  man  makes  acquaintances  here  he  becomes  in 
dependent  and  leaves.  If  something  isn't  done,  the  better  class 
of  people  will  have  to  move  out  of  the  country." 

"  Or  go  back  to  doing  their  own  work,"  said  Mrs.  Ranger. 

Mrs.  Whitney  smiled  vaguely — a  smile  which  said,  "  I'm 
too  polite  to  answer  that  remark  as  it  deserves." 

"Why  didn't  you  bring  Jenny  along?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Ranger,  when  they  were  in  the  "  front  parlor,"  the  twro  older 
women  seated,  Adelaide  moving  restlessly  about. 

"  Janet  and  Ross  haven't  come  yet,"  answered  Mrs.  Whit 
ney.  "  They'll  be  on  next  week,  but  only  for  a  little  while. 
They  both  like  it  better  in  the  East.  All  their  friends  are 
there  and  there's  so  much  more  to  do."  Mrs.  Whitney  sighed  ; 
before  her  rose  the  fascination  of  all  there  was  to  "  do  "  in  the 
East — the  pleasures  she  was  denying  herself. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  live  in  New  York,"  said  Mrs. 
Ranger.  "You're  always  talking  about  it." 

37 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Oh,  I  can't  leave  Charles!  "  was  Mrs.  Whitney's  answer. 
"  Or,  rather  he'd  not  hear  of  my  doing  it.  But  I  think  he'll 
let  us  take  an  apartment  at  Sherry's  next  winter — for  the 
season,  just — unless  Janet  and  I  go  abroad." 

Mrs.  Ranger  had  not  been  listening.  She  now  started  up. 
"  If  you'll  excuse  me,  Mattie,  I  must  see  what  that  cook's 
about.  I'm  afraid  to  let  her  out  of  my  sight  for  five  minutes 
for  fear  she'll  up  and  leave." 

"What  a  time  your  poor  mother  has!"  said  Mrs.  Whit 
ney,  when  she  and  Adelaide  were  alone. 

Del  had  recovered  from  her  attack  of  what  she  had  been 
denouncing  to  herself  as  snobbishness.  For  all  the  gingham 
wrapper  and  spectacles  anchored  in  the  hair  and  general  air 
of  hard  work  and  no  "  culture,"  she  was  thinking,  as  she 
looked  at  Mrs.  Whitney's  artificiality  and  listened  to  those 
affected  accents,  that  she  was  glad  her  mother  was  Ellen 
Ranger  and  not  Matilda  Whitney.  "  But  mother  doesn't  be 
lieve  she  has  a  hard  time,"  she  answered,  "  and  everything  de 
pends  on  what  one  believes  oneself;  don't  you  think  so?  I 
often  envy  her.  She's  always  busy  and  interested.  And  she's 
so  useful,  such  a  happiness-maker." 

"  I  often  feel  that  way,  too,"  responded  Mrs.  Whitney, 
in  her  most  profusely  ornate  "  grande  dame "  manner.  "  I 
get  so  bored  with  leading  an  artificial  life.  I  often  wish 
fate  had  been  more  kind  to  me.  I  was  reading,  the  other 
day,  that  the  Queen  of  England  said  she  had  the  tastes  of  a 
dairy  maid.  Wasn't  that  charming?  Many  of  us  whom 
fate  has  condemned  to  the  routine  of  high  station  feel  the 
same  way." 

It  was  by  such  deliverances  that  Mrs.  Whitney  posed,  not 
without  success,  as  an  intellectual  woman  who  despised  the 
frivolities  of  a  fashionable  existence — this  in  face  of  the  ob 
vious  fact  that  she  led  a  fashionable  existence,  or,  rather,  it 
led  her,  from  the  moment  her  masseuse  awakened  her  in  the 
morning  until  her  maid  undressed  her  at  night.  But,  although 
Adelaide  was  far  too  young,  too  inexperienced  to  know  that 
judgment  must  always  be  formed  from  actions,  never  from 

38 


MRS.    WHITNEY    INTERVENES 

words,  she  was  not,  in  this  instance,  deceived.  "  It  takes  more 
courage  than  most  of  us  have,"  said  she,  "  to  do  what  we'd  like 
instead  of  what  vanity  suggests." 

Mrs.  Whitney  did  not  understand  this  beyond  getting  from 
it  a  vague  sense  that  she  had  somehow  been  thrust  at.  "  You 
must  be  careful  of  that  skin  of  yours,  Adele,"  she  thrust  back. 
"  I've  been  looking  at  it.  You  can't  have  been  home  long,  yet 
the  exposure  to  the  sun  is  beginning  to  show.  You  have  one 
of  those  difficult,  thin  skins,  and  one's  skin  is  more  than  half 
one's  beauty.  You  ought  never  to  go  out  without  a  veil.  The 
last  thing  Ross  said  to  me  was,  '  Do  tell  Adelaide  to  keep  her 
color  down.'  You  know  he  admires  the  patrician  style." 

Adelaide  could  not  conceal  the  effect  of  the  shot.  Her 
skin  was  a  great  trial  to  her,  it  burned  so  easily ;  and  she  hated 
wrapping  herself  in  under  broad  brims  and  thick  veils  when  the 
feeling  of  bareheadedness  was  so  delightful.  "  At  any  rate," 
said  she  sweetly,  "  it's  easier  to  keep  color  down  than  to  keep 
it  up." 

Mrs.  Whitney  pretended  not  to  hear.  She  was  now  at  the 
window  which  gave  on  the  garden  by  way  of  a  small  balcony. 
"There's  your  father!"  she  exclaimed;  "let's  go  to  him." 

There,  indeed,  was  Hiram,  pacing  the  walk  along  the  end 
of  the  garden  with  a  ponderousness  in  the  movements  of  his 
big  form  that  bespoke  age  and  effort.  It  irritated  Mrs.  Whit 
ney  to  look  at  him,  as  it  had  irritated  her  to  look  at  Ellen ; 
very  painful  were  the  reminders  of  the  ravages  of  time  from 
these  people  of  about  her  own  age,  these  whom  she  as  a  child 
had  known  as  children.  Crow's-feet  and  breaking  contour 
and  thin  hair  in  those  we  have  known  only  as  grown  people, 
do  not  affect  us;  but  the  same  signs  in  lifelong  acquaintances 
make  it  impossible  to  ignore  Decay  holding  up  the  mirror  to 
us  and  pointing  to  aging  mouth  and  throat,  as  he  wags  his 
hideous  head  and  says,  "  Soon — you,  too!  " 

Hiram  saw  Matilda  and  his  daughter  the  instant  they  ap 
peared  on  the  balcony,  but  he  gave  no  hint  of  it  until  they 
>-ere  in  the  path  of  his  monotonous  march.  He  was  nerving 
himself  for  Mrs.  Whitney  as  one  nerves  himself  in  a  dentist's 

39 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

chair  for  the  descent  of  the  grinder  upon  a  sensitive  tooth. 
Usually  she  got  no  further  than  her  first  sentence  before  irri 
tating  him.  To-day  the  very  sight  of  her  filled  him  with  seem 
ingly  causeless  anger.  There  was  a  time  when  he,  watching 
Matilda  improve  away  from  her  beginnings  as  the  ignorant 
and  awkward  daughter  of  the  keeper  of  a  small  hotel,  had 
approved  of  her  and  had  wished  that  Ellen  would  give  more 
time  to  the  matter  of  looks.  But  latterly  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  a  woman  has  to  choose  between  improving 
her  exterior  and  improving  her  interior,  and  that  it  is  impos 
sible  or  all  but  impossible  for  her  to  do  both;  he  therefore 
found  in  Ellen's  very  indifference  to  exteriors  another  reason 
why  she  seemed  to  him  so  splendidly  the  opposite  of  Charles's 
wife. 

"  You  certainly  look  the  same  as  ever,  Hiram,"  Matilda 
said,  advancing  with  extended,  beautifully  gloved  hand.  The 
expression  of  his  eyes  as  he  turned  them  upon  her  gave  her  a 
shock,  but  she  forced  the  smile  back  into  her  face  and  went 
on,  "  Ross  says  you  always  make  him  think  of  a  tower  on 
top  of  a  high  hill,  one  that  has  always  stood  there  and 
always  will." 

The  gray  shadow  over  Hiram's  face  grew  grayer. 

"  But  you  ought  to  rest,"  Mrs.  Whitney  went  on.  "  You 
and  Charles  both  ought  to  rest.  It's  ridiculous,  the  way 
American  men  act.  Now,  Charles  has  never  taken  a  real  va 
cation.  When  he  does  go  away  he  has  a  secretary  with  him 
and  works  all  day.  But  at  least  he  gets  change  of  scene,  while 
you — you  rarely  miss  a  day  at  the  mills." 

"  I  haven't  missed  a  whole  day  in  forty-three  years,"  re 
plied  Hiram,  "  except  the  day  I  got  married,  and  I  never  expect 
to.  I'll  drop  in  the  harness.  I'd  be  lost  without  it." 

"Don't  you  think  that's  a  narrow  view  of  life?"  asked 
Mrs.  Whitney.  "  Don't  you  think  we  ought  all  to  take  time 
to  cultivate  our  higher  natures?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  higher  natures?  " 

Mrs.  Whitney  scented  sarcasm  and  insult.  To  interrogate 
a  glittering  generality  is  to  slur  its  projector;  she  wished  her 

40 


MRS.    WHITNEY    INTERVENES 

hearers  to  be  dazzled,  not  moved  to  the  impertinence  of  cross- 
examination.     "  I  think  you  understand  me,"  she  said  loftily. 

"  I  don't,"  replied  Hiram.  "  I'm  only  a  cooper  and  miller. 
I  haven't  had  the  advantages  of  a  higher  education  " — this  last 
with  a  steady  look  toward  his  son,  approaching  from  the  direc 
tion  of  the  stables.  The  young  man  was  in  a  riding  suit  that 
was  too  correct  at  every  point  for  good  taste,  except  in  a  col 
lege  youth,  and  would  have  made  upon  anyone  who  had  been 
born,  or  initiated  into,  the  real  mysteries  of  "  good  form  "  an 
impression  similar  to  that  of  Mrs.  Whitney's  costume  and  ac 
cent  and  manner.  There  was  the  note  of  the  fashion  plate, 
the  evidence  of  pains,  of  correctness  not  instinctive  but  studied 
— the  marks  our  new-sprung  obstreperous  aristocracy  has  made 
familiar  to  us  all.  It  would  have  struck  upon  a  sense  of 
humor  like  a  trivial  twitter  from  the  oboe  trickling  through 
a  lull  in  the  swell  of  brasses  and  strings;  but  Hiram  Ranger 
had  no  sense  of  humor  in  that  direction,  had  only  his  instinct 
for  the  right  and  the  wrong.  The  falseness,  the  absence  of 
the  quality  called  "  the  real  thing,"  made  him  bitter  and  sad. 
And,  when  his  son  joined  them  and  walked  up  and  down  with 
them,  he  listened  with  heavier  droop  of  face  and  form  to  the 
affected  chatter  of  the  young  "  man  of  the  w^orld  "  and  the 
old  "  grande  dame  "  of  Chicago  society.  They  talked  the  lan 
guage  and  the  affairs  of  a  world  he  had  never  explored  and 
had  no  wish  to  explore;  its  code  and  conduct,  his  training, 
his  reason  and  his  instinct  all  joined  in  condemning  as  dis 
honorable  shirking  of  a  man's  and  woman's  part  in  a  universe 
so  ordered  that,  to  keep  alive  in  it,  everyone  must  either  work 
or  steal. 

But  his  boy  was  delighted  with  the  conversation,  with  Mrs. 
Whitney,  and,  finally,  with  himself.  A  long,  hard  ride  had 
scattered  his  depression  of  many  weeks  into  a  mere  haze  over 
the  natural  sunshine  of  youth  and  health ;  this  haze  now  van 
ished.  When  Mrs.  Whitney  referred  to  Harvard,  he  said 
lightly,  "  You  know  I  was  plucked." 

"  Ross  told  me,"  said  she,  in  an  amused  tone;  "  but  you'll 
get  back  all  right  next  fall." 

4  41 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  go,"  said  Arthur.  "  I've  been 
thinking  it  over.  I  believe  I've  got  about  all  the  good  a  uni 
versity  can  do  a  man.  It  seems  to  me  a  year  or  so  abroad — 
traveling  about,  seeing  the  world — would  be  the  best  thing 
for  me.  I'm  going  to  talk  it  over  with  father — as  soon  as  he 
gets  through  being  out  of  humor  with  me." 

Hiram  did  not  look  at  his  son,  who  glanced  a  little  un 
easily  at  him  as  he  unfolded  this  new  scheme  for  perfecting 
his  education  as  "  man  of  the  world." 

"  Surely  your  father's  not  angry!'  cried  Mrs.  Whitney,  in 
a  tone  intended  to  make  Hiram  ashamed  of  taking  so  narrow, 
so  rural,  a  view  of  his  son's  fashionable  mischance. 

"  No,"  replied  Hiram,  and  his  voice  sounded  curt.  He 
added,  in  an  undertone:  "  I  wish  I  were." 

"  You're  wrong  there,  Hiram,"  said  Mrs.  Whitney,  catch 
ing  the  words  not  intended  for  her,  and  misunderstanding 
them.  "  It's  not  a  case  for  severity." 

Arthur  smiled,  and  the  look  he  gave  his  father  was  a  bright 
indication  of  the  soundness  of  his  heart.  Severity!  The  idea 
was  absurd  in  connection  with  the  most  generous  and  indulgent 
of  fathers.  "  You  don't  get  his  meaning,  Mrs.  Whitney," 
said  he.  "  I,  too,  wish  he  were  angry.  I'm  afraid  I've  made 
him  sad.  You  know  he's  got  old-fashioned  views  of  many 
things,  and  he  can't  believe  I've  not  really  disgraced  him 
and  myself." 

"  Do  you  believe  it?  "  inquired  Hiram,  with  a  look  at  him 
as  sudden  and  sharp  as  the  ray  of  a  search  light. 

"  I  know  it,  father,"  replied  Arthur  earnestly.  "  Am  I  not 
right,  Mrs.  Whitney?" 

"  Don't  be  such  an  old  fogy,  Hiram,"  said  Mrs.  Whitney. 
"  You  ought  to  be  thankful  you've  got  a  son  like  Arthur,  who 
makes  a  splendid  impression  everywhere.  He's  the  only  west 
ern  man  that's  got  into  exclusive  societies  at  Harvard  in  years 
simply  on  his  own  merits,  and  he's  a  great  favorite  in  Boston 
and  in  New  York." 

"  My  children  need  no  one  to  defend  them  to  me,"  said 
Hiram,  in  what  might  be  called  his  quiet  tone — the  tone  he 

42 


MRS.    WHITNEY    INTERVENES 

had  never  in  his  life  used  without  drying  up  utterly  the  dis 
cussion  that  had  provoked  it.  Many  people  had  noted  the 
curious  effect  of  that  tone  and  had  resolved  to  defy  it  at  the 
next  opportunity,  "  just  to  see  what  the  consequences  would 
be."  But  wrhen  the  opportunity  had  come,  their  courage  had 
always  withered. 

"  You  can't  expect  me  to  be  like  you,  father.  You 
wouldn't  want  it,"  said  Arthur,  after  the  pause.  "  I  must  be 
myself,  must  develop  my  own  individuality." 

Ranger  stopped  and  that  stopped  the  others.  Without 
looking  at  his  son,  he  said  slowly:  "I  ain't  disputing  that, 
boy.  It  ain't  the  question."  There  was  tremendousness  in 
his  restrained  energy  and  intensity  as  he  went  on :  "  What  I'm 
thinking  about  is  whether  I  ought  to  keep  on  helping  you  to 
'  develop  '  yourself,  as  you  call  it.  That's  what  won't  let  me 
rest."  And  he  abruptly  walked  away. 

Mrs.  Whitney  and  Arthur  stared  after  him.  "  I  don't 
think  he's  quite  well,  Artie,"  she  said  reassuringly.  "  Don't 
worry.  He'll  come  round  all  right.  But  you  ought  to  be  a 
little  more  diplomatic." 

Arthur  was  silent.  Diplomacy  meant  deceit,  and  he  hadn't 
yet  reached  the  stage  of  polite  and  comfortable  compromise 
where  deceit  figures  merely  as  an  amiable  convenience  for  pro 
moting  smoothness  in  human  intercourse.  But  he  believed  that 
his  father  would  "  come  round  all  right,"  as  Mrs.  Whitney 
had  so  comfortingly  said.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  when  he 
had  done  nothing  discreditable,  but,  on  the  contrary,  had  been 
developing  himself  in  a  way  that  reflected  the  highest  credit 
upon  his  family,  as  it  marched  up  toward  the  lofty  goal  of 
"  cultured  "  ambition,  toward  high  and  secure  social  station. 

Mrs.  Whitney,  however,  did  not  believe  her  own  state 
ment.  In  large  part  her  reputation  of  being  a  "  good,  kind 
sort,"  like  many  such  reputations,  rested  on  her  habit  of  cheer 
ing  on  those  who  were  going  the  wrrong  way  and  were  dis 
turbed  by  some  suspicion  of  the  truth.  She  had  known  Hiram 
Ranger  long,  had  had  many  a  trying  experience  of  his  char 
acter,  gentle  as  a  trade  wind — and  as  steady  and  unchange- 

43 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

able.  Also,  beneath  her  surface  of  desperate  striving  after 
the  things  which  common  sense  denounces,  or  affects  to  de 
nounce,  as  foolishness,  there  was  a  shrewd,  practical  person. 
"  He  means  some  kind  of  mischief,"  she  thought — an  un 
reasoned,  instinctive  conclusion,  and,  therefore,  all-powerful 
with  a  woman. 

That  evening  she  wrote  her  daughter  not  to  cut  short 
her  visit  to  get  to  Saint  X.  "  Wait  until  Ross  is  ready.  Then 
you  can  join  him  at  Chicago  and  let  him  bring  you." 

Just  about  the  hour  she  was  setting  down  this  first  re 
sult  of  her  instinct's  warning  against  the  danger  signal  she 
had  seen  in  Hiram  Ranger's  manner,  he  was  delivering  a 
bombshell.  He  had  led  in  the  family  prayers  as  usual  and 
had  just  laid  the  Bible  on  the  center-table  in  the  back  parlor 
after  they  rose  from  their  knees.  With  his  hands  resting  on 
the  cover  of  the  huge  volume  he  looked  at  his  son.  There 
was  a  sacrificial  expression  in  his  eyes.  "  I  have  decided  to 
withdraw  Arthur's  allowance,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded 
hollow  and  distant,  as  unfamiliar  to  his  own  ears  as  to  theirs. 
"  He  must  earn  his  own  living.  If  he  wants  a  place  at  the 
mills,  there's  one  waiting  for  him.  If  he'd  rather  work  at 
something  else,  I'll  do  what  I  can  to  get  him  a  job." 

Silence;  and  Hiram  left  the  room. 

Adelaide  was  first  to  recover  sufficiently  to  speak.  "  O 
mother,"  cried  she,  "  you're  not  going  to  allow  this !  " 

To  Adelaide's  and  Arthur's  consternation,  Ellen  replied 
quietly :  "  It  ain't  no  use  to  talk  to  him.  I  ain't  lived  all  these 
years  with  your  father  without  finding  out  when  he  means 
what  he  says." 

"  It's  so  unjust!  "  exclaimed  Adelaide. 

There  came  into  Ellen's  face  a  look  she  had  never  seen 
there  before.  It  made  her  say:  "O  mother,  I  didn't  mean 
that;  only,  it  does  seem  hard." 

Mrs.  Ranger  thought  so,  too;  but  she  would  have  died 
rather  than  have  made  the  thought  treason  by  uttering  it. 
She  followed  her  husband  upstairs,  saying:  "You  and  Arthur 
can  close  up,  and  put  out  the  lights." 

44 


MRS.    WHITNEY    INTERVENES 

Adelaide,  almost  in  tears  over  her  brother's  catastrophe, 
was  thrilled  with  admiration  of  his  silent,  courageous  bearing. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Artie?  " 

This  incautious  question  drew  his  inward  ferment  boiling 
to  the  surface.  "  He  has  me  down  and  I've  got  to  take  his 
medicine,"  said  the  young  man,  teeth  together  and  eyes  dark 
with  fury. 

This  she  did  not  admire.  Her  first  indignation  abated, 
as  she  sat  on  there  thinking  it  out.  "  Maybe  father  is  nearer 
right  than  we  know,"  she  said  to  herself  finally.  "  After  all, 
Arthur  will  merely  be  doing  as  father  does.  There's  some 
thing  wrong  with  him,  and  with  me,  too,  or  we  shouldn't 
think  that  so  terrible."  But  to  Arthur  she  said  nothing. 
Encourage  him  in  his  present  mood  she  must  not;  and  to  try 
to  dissuade  him  would  simply  goad  him  on. 


45 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   SHATTERED   COLOSSUS 

HAT  night  there  was  sleep  under  Hiram  Rang 
er's  roof  for  Mary  the  cook  only.  Of  the 
four  wakeful  ones  the  most  unhappy  was 
Hiram  himself,  the  precipitator  of  it  all.  Ar 
thur  had  the  consolation  of  his  conviction 
that  his  calamity  was  unjust;  Adelaide  and  her 
mother,  of  their  conviction  that  in  the  end  it  could  not  but 
be  well  with  Arthur.  For  Hiram  there  was  no  consolation. 
He  reviewed  and  re-reviewed  the  facts,  and  each  time  he 
reached  again  his  original  conclusion;  the  one  course  in  re 
pairing  the  mistakes  of  the  boy's  bringing  up  was  a  sharp  right 
about.  "  Don't  waste  no  time  gettin'  off  the  wrong  road, 
once  you're  sure  it's  wrong,"  had  been  a  maxim  of  his  father, 
and  he  had  found  it  a  rule  with  no  exceptions.  He  appreciated 
that  there  is  a  better  way  from  the  wrong  road  into  the  right 
than  a  mad  dash  straight  across  the  stumpy  fields  and  rocky 
gullies  between.  That  rough,  rude  way,  however,  was  the 
single  way  open  to  him  here.  Whenever  it  had  become  nec 
essary  for  him  to  be  firm  with  those  he  loved,  it  had  rarely 
been  possible  for  him  to  do  right  in  the  right  way;  he 
had  usually  been  forced  to  do  right  in  the  wrong  way — to 
hide  himself  from  them  behind  a  manner  of  cold  and  silent 
finality,  and,  so,  to  prevent  them  from  forming  an  alliance 
and  a  junction  of  forces  with  the  traitor  softness  within 
him.  Besides,  gentle,  roundabout,  gradual  measures  would 
require  time — delay;  and  he  must  "put  his  house  in  order" 
forthwith. 

Thus,  even  the  consolation  that  he  was  at  least  doing  right 

46 


THE    SHATTERED    COLOSSUS 

was  denied  him.  As  he  lay  there  he  could  see  himself  harshly 
forcing  the  bitter  medicine  upon  his  son,  the  cure  for  a  disease 
for  which  he  was  himself  responsible;  he  could  see  his  son's 
look  and  could  not  deny  its  justice.  "  I  reckon  he  hates  me," 
thought  Hiram,  pouring  vitriol  into  his  own  wounds,  "  and 
I  reckon  he's  got  good  cause  to." 

But  there  was  in  the  old  miller  a  Covenanter  fiber  tough 
as  ironwood.  The  idea  of  yielding  did  not  enter  his  head. 
He  accepted  his  sufferings  as  part  of  his  punishment  for  past 
indulgence  and  weakness;  he  would  endure,  and  go  forward. 
His  wife  understood  him  by  a  kind  of  intuition  which,  like 
most  of  our  insight  into  the  true  natures  of  those  close  about 
us,  was  a  gradual  permeation  from  the  one  to  the  other  rather 
than  clear,  deliberate  reasoning.  But  the  next  morning  her 
sore  and  anxious  mother's  heart  misread  the  gloom  of  his 
strong  face  into  sternness  toward  her  only  son. 

"When  did  you  allow  to  put  the  boy  to  work,  father?" 
she  finally  said,  and  her  tone  unintentionally  made  Hiram  feel 
more  than  ever  as  if  he  had  sentenced  "  the  boy "  to  hard 
labor  in  the  degradation  and  disgrace  of  a  chain  gang. 

As  he  waited  some  time  for  self-control  before  answering, 
she  thought  her  inquiry  had  deepened  his  resentment.  "  Not 
that  I  don't  think  you're  right,  maybe,"  she  hasteneed  to  add, 
"  though  " — this  wistfully,  in  a  feminine  and  maternal  subtlety 
of  laying  the  first  lines  for  sapping  and  mining  his  position 
— "  I  often  think  about  our  life,  all  work  and  no  play,  and 
wonder  if  we  oughtn't  to  give  the  children  the  chance  we 
never  had." 

"  No  good  never  came  of  idleness,"  said  Hiram,  uncom 
promisingly,  "  and  to  be  busy  about  foolishness  is  still  worse. 
Work  or  rot — that's  life." 

"  That's  so ;  that's  so,"  she  conceded.  And  she  was  sin 
cere;  for  that  was  her  real  belief,  and  what  she  had  hinted 
was  a  mere  unthinking  repetition  of  the  shallow,  comfortable 
philosophy  of  most  people — those  "  go  easys  "  and  "  do  noth 
ings  "  and  "  get  nowheres  "  wherewith  Saint  X  and  the  sur 
rounding  country  were  burdened.  "  Still,"  she  went  on,  aloud, 

47 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Ar'hur  hasn't  got  any  bad  habits,  like  most  of  the  young 
men  found  here  with  more  money  than's  good  for  them." 

'  Drink  ain't  the  only  bad  habit,"  replied  Hiram.  "  It 
ain't  the  worst,  though  it  looks  the  worst.  The  boy's  got 
brains.  It  ain't  right  to  allow  him  to  choke  'em  up  with 
nonsense." 

Ellen's  expression  was  assent. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  down  to  the  mill  next  Monday,"  said 
Hiram,  after  another  silence,  "  and  tell  him  to  get  some 
clothes  that  won't  look  ridiculous."  He  paused,  then  added: 
"  A  man  that  ain't  ready  to  do  anything,  no  matter  what  so 
long  as  it's  useful  and  honest,  is  good  for  nothing." 

The  night  had  bred  in  Arthur  brave  and  bold  resolves. 
He  would  not  tamely  submit;  he  would  cast  his  father  off, 
would  go  forth  and  speedily  carve  a  brilliant  career.  He 
would  show  his  father  that,  even  if  the  training  of  a  gentle 
man  develops  tastes  above  the  coarseness  of  commerce,  it  also 
develops  the  mental  superiority  that  makes  fleeing  chaff  of 
the  obstacles  to  fame  and  wealth.  He  did  not  go  far  into 
details;  but,  as  his  essays  at  Harvard  had  been  praised,  he 
thought  of  giving  literature's  road  to  distinction  the  prefer 
ence  over  the  several  others  that  "-must  be  smooth  before  him. 
Daylight  put  these  imaginings  into  silly  countenance,  and  he 
felt  silly  for  having  lingered  in  their  company,  even  in  the 
dark.  As  he  dressed  he  had  much  less  than  his  wonted  con 
tent  with  himself.  He  did  not  take  the  same  satisfaction  in 
his  clothes,  as  evidence  of  his  good  taste,  or  in  his  admired 
variations  of  the  fashion  of  wearing  the  hair  and  tying  the 
scarf.  Midway  in  the  process  of  arranging  his  hair  he  put 
down  his  military  brushes;  leaning  against  the  dressing  table, 
he  fixed  his  mind  upon  the  first  serious  thoughts  he  had  ever 
had  in  his  whole  irresponsible,  sheltered  life.  "Well,"  he 
said,  half-aloud,  "there  is  something  wrong!  If  there  isn't, 
why  do  I  feel  as  if  my  spine  had  collapsed  ?  "  After  a  long 
pause,  he  added :  "  And  it  has !  All  that  held  it  steady  was 
father's  hand." 

The  whole  lofty  and  beautiful  structure  of  self-compla- 

48 


THE    SHATTERED    COLOSSUS 

cence  upon  which  he  had  lounged,  preening  his  feathers  and 
receiving  social  triumphs  and  the  adulation  of  his  "  less  fortu 
nate  fellows  "  as  the  due  of  his  own  personal  superiority,  sud 
denly  slipped  from  under  him.  With  a  rueful  smile  at  his 
plight,  he  said :  "  The  governor  has  called  me  down."  Then, 
resentfully,  and  with  a  return  of  his  mood  of  dignity  out 
raged  and  pride  trampled  upon :  "  But  he  had  no  right  to 
put  me  up  there — or  let  me  climb  up  there."  Once  a  wrong 
becomes  "  vested,"  it  is  a  "  vested  right,"  sacred,  taboo.  Ar 
thur  felt  that  his  father  was  committing  a  crime  against  him. 

When  he  saw  Adelaide  and  his  mother  their  anxious  looks 
made  him  furious.  So !  They  knew  how  helpless  he  was ; 
they  were  pitying  him.  Pitying  him!  Pitying  him\  He  just 
tasted  his  coffee ;  with  scowling  brow  he  hastened  to  the  stables 
for  his  saddle  horse  and  rode  away  alone.  "  Wait  a  few 
minutes  and  I'll  come  with  you,"  called  Adelaide  from  the 
porch  as  he  galloped  by.  He  pretended  not  to  hear.  When 
clear  of  the  town  he  "  took  it  out  "  on  his  horse,  using  whip 
and  spur  until  it  gripped  the  bit  and  ran  away.  He  fought 
savagely  with  it;  at  a  turn  in  the  road  it  slipped  and  fell,  all 
but  carrying  him  under.  He  was  in  such  a  frenzy  that  if  he 
had  had  a  pistol  he  would  have  shot  it.  The  chemical  action 
of  his  crisis  precipitated  in  a  black  mass  all  the  poison  his 
nature  had  been  absorbing  in  those  selfish,  supercilious  years. 
So  long  as  that  poison  was  held  in  suspense  it  was  imper 
ceptible  to  himself  as  well  as  to  others.  But  now,  there  it  was, 
unmistakably  a  poison.  At  the  sight  his  anger  vanished.  "  I'm 
a  beast!"  he  ejaculated,  astonished.  "And  here  I've  been 
imagining  I  was  a  fairly  decent  sort  of  fellow.  What  the 
devil  have  I  been  up  to,  to  make  me  like  this?  " 

He  walked  along  the  road,  leading  his  horse  by  the  bridle 
slipped  over  his  arm.  He  resumed  his  reverie  of  the  earlier 
morning,  and  began  a  little  less  dimly  to  see  his  situation  from 
the  new  viewpoint.  "  I  deserve  what  I'm  getting,"  he  said  to 
himself.  Then,  at  a  twinge  from  the  resentment  that  had 
gone  too  deep  to  be  ejected  in  an  instant,  he  added:  "But 
that  doesn't  excuse  him"  His  father  was  to  blame  for  the 

49 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

whole  ugly  business — for  his  plight  within  and  without. 
Still,  fixing  the  blame  was  obviously  unimportant  beside  the 
problem  of  the  way  out.  And  for  that  problem  he,  in  saner 
mood,  began  to  feel  that  the  right  solution  was  to  do  some 
thing  and  so  become  in  his  own  person  a  somebody,  instead 
of  being  mere  son  of  a  somebody.  "  I  haven't  got  this  shock 
a  minute  too  soon,"  he  reflected.  "  I  must  take  myself  in 
hand.  I " 

"Why,  it's  you,  Arthur,  isn't  it?"  startled  him. 

He  looked  up,  saw  Mrs.  Whitney  coming  toward  him. 
She  was  in  a  winter  walking  suit,  though  the  day  was  warm. 
She  was  engaged  in  the  pursuit  that  was  the  chief  reason  for 
her  three  months'  retirement  to  the  bluffs  overlooking  Saint  X 
— the  preservation  of  her  figure.  She  hated  exercise,  being  by 
nature  as  lazy,  luxurious,  and  self-indulgent  physically  as  she 
was  alert  and  industrious  mentally.  From  October  to  July 
she  ate  and  drank  about  what  she  pleased,  never  set  foot  upon 
the  ground  if  she  could  help  it,  and  held  her  tendency  to  hips 
in  check  by  daily  massage.  From  July  to  October  she  walked 
two  or  three  hours  a  day,  heavily  dressed,  and  had  a  woman 
especially  to  attend  to  her  hair  and  complexion,  in  addition 
to  the  masseuse  toiling  to  keep  her  cheeks  and  throat  firm  for 
the  fight  against  wrinkles  and  loss  of  contour. 

Arthur  frowned  at  the  interruption,  then  smoothed  his 
features  into  a  cordial  smile;  and  at  once  that  ugly  mass  of 
precipitated  poison  began  to  redistribute  itself  and  hide  itself 
from  him. 

"You've  had  a  fall,  haven't  you?" 

He  flushed.  She,  judging  with  the  supersensitive  vanity 
of  all  her  self-conscious  "  set,"  thought  the  flush  was  at  the 
implied  criticism  of  his  skill;  but  he  was  far  too  good  a  rider 
to  care  about  his  misadventure,  and  it  was  her  unconscious 
double  meaning  that  stung  him.  She  turned;  they  walked 
together.  After  a  brief  debate  as  to  the  time  for  confessing 
his  "  fall,"  which,  at  best,  could  remain  a  secret  no  longer  than 
Monday,  he  chose  the  present.  "  Father's  begun  to  cut  up 
rough,"  said  he,  and  his  manner  was  excellent.  "  He's  taken 


THE    SHATTERED    COLOSSUS 

away  my  allowance,  and  I'm  to  go  to  work  at  the  mill."  He 
was  yielding  to  the  insidious  influence  of  her  presence,  was 
dropping  rapidly  back  toward  the  attitude  as  well  as  the 
accent  of  "  our  set." 

At  his  frank  disclosure  Mrs.  Whitney  congratulated  her 
self  on  her  shrewdness  so  heartily  that  she  betrayed  it  in  her 
face;  but  Arthur  did  not  see.  "  I  suppose  your  mother  can  do 
nothing  with  him."  This  was  spoken  in  a  tone  of  conviction. 
She  always  felt  that,  if  she  had  had  Hiram  to  deal  with,  she 
would  have  been  fully  as  successful  with  him  as  she  thought 
she  had  been  with  Charles  Whitney.  She  did  not  appreciate 
the  fundamental  difference  in  the  characters  of  the  two  men. 
Both  were  iron  of  will ;  but  there  \vas  in  Whitney — and  not 
in  Hiram — a  selfishness  that  took  the  form  of  absolute  in 
difference  to  anything  and  everything  which  did  not  directly 
concern  himself — his  business  or  his  physical  comfort.  Thus 
his  wife  had  had  her  way  in  all  matters  of  the  social  career, 
and  he  would  have  forced  upon  her  the  whole  responsibility 
for  the  children  if  she  had  not  spared  him  the  necessity  by 
assuming  it.  He  cheerfully  paid  the  bills,  no  matter  wrhat 
they  were,  because  he  thought  his  money's  power  to  buy  him 
immunity  from  family  annoyances  one  of  its  chief  values. 
She,  and  everyone  else,  thought  she  ruled  him ;  in  fact,  she  not 
only  did  not  rule  him,  but  had  not  even  influence  with  him 
in  the  smallest  trifle  of  the  matters  he  regarded  as  important, 

The  last  time  he  had  looked  carefully  at  her — many,  many 
years  before — he  had  thought  her  beautiful ;  he  assumed  thence 
forth  that  she  was  still  beautiful,  and  was  therefore  proud  oi 
her.  In  like  manner  he  had  made  up  his  mind  favorably  to 
his  children.  As  the  bills  grew  heavier  and  heavier,  from 
year  to  year,  with  the  wife  and  two  children  assiduously  ex 
panding  them,  he  paid  none  the  less  cheerfully.  "  There  i? 
some  satisfaction  in  paying  up  for  them,"  reflected  he.  "  At 
least  a  man  can  feel  that  he's  getting  his  money's  worth." 
And  he  contrasted  his  luck  with  the  bad  luck  of  so  many  men 
who  had  to  "  pay  up  "  for  "  homely  frumps,  that  look  worse 
the  more  they  spend." 

51 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

But  Arthur  was  replying  to  Mrs.  Whitney's  remark  with 
a  bitter  "Nobody  can  do  anything  with  father;  he's  narrow 
and  obstinate.  If  you  argue  with  him,  he's  silent.  He  cares 
for  nothing  but  his  business." 

Arthur  did  not  hesitate  to  speak  thus  frankly  to  Mrs. 
Whitney.  She  seemed  a  member  of  the  family,  like  a  sister 
of  his  mother  or  father  who  had  lived  with  them  always ;  also 
he  accepted  her  at  the  valuation  she  and  all  her  friends  set 
upon  her — he,  like  herself  and  them,  thought  her  generous  and 
unselfish  because  she  was  lavish  with  sympathetic  words  and 
with  alms — the  familiar  means  by  which  the  heartless  cheat 
themselves  into  a  reputation  for  heart.  She  always  left  the 
objects  of  her  benevolence  the  poorer  for  her  ministrations, 
though  they  did  not  realize  it.  She  adopted  as  the  guiding 
principle  of  her  life  the  cynical  philosophy — "  Give  people 
wrhat  they  want,  never  what  they  need."  By  sympathizing 
effusively  with  those  in  trouble,  she  encouraged  them  in  low- 
spiritedness ;  by  lavishing  alms,  she  weakened  struggling  pov 
erty  into  pauperism.  But  she  took  away  and  left  behind  en 
thusiasm  for  her  own  moral  superiority  and  humanity.  Also 
she  deceived  herself  and  others  with  such  fluid  outpourings  of 
fine  phrases  about  "  higher  life  "  and  "  spiritual  thinking  "  as 
so  exasperated  Hiram  Ranger. 

Now,  instead  of  showing  Arthur  what  her  substratum  of 
shrewd  sense  enabled  her  to  see,  she  ministered  soothingly  unto 
his  vanity.  His  father  was  altogether  wrong,  tyrannical,  cruel ; 
he  himself  was  altogether  right,  a  victim  of  his  father's 
ignorance  of  the  world. 

"  I  decided  not  to  submit,"  said  Arthur,  as  if  the  decision 
were  one  which  had  come  to  him  the  instant  his  father  had 
shown  the  teeth  and  claws  of  tyranny,  instead  of  being  an 
impulse  of  just  that  moment,  inspired  by  Mrs.  Whitney's 
encouragement  to  the  weakest  and  worst  in  his  nature. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  too  hasty  about  that,"  she  cautioned.  "  He 
is  old  and  sick.  You  ought  to  be  more  than  considerate. 
And,  also,  you  should  be  careful  not  to  make  him  do  anything 
that  would  cut  you  out  of  your  rights." 

52 


THE    SHATTERED    COLOSSUS 

It  was  the  first  time  the  thought  of  his  "  rights " — of 
the  share  of  his  father's  estate  that  would  be  his  when  his 
father  was  no  more — had  definitely  entered  his  head.  That 
he  would  some  day  be  a  rich  man  he  had  accepted  just  as  he 
accepted  the  other  conditions  of  his  environment — all  to  which 
he  was  born  and  in  which  consisted  his  title  to  be  regarded 
as  of  the  "  upper  classes,"  like  his  associates  at  Harvard. 
Thinking  now  on  the  insinuated  proposition  that  his  father 
might  disinherit  him,  he  promptly  rejected  it.  "  No  danger 
of  his  doing  that,"  he  assured  her,  with  the  utmost  confidence. 
"  Father  is  an  honest  man,  and  he  wouldn't  think  of  anything 
so  dishonest,  so  dishonorable." 

This  view  of  a  child's  rights  in  the  estate  of  its  parents 
amused  Mrs.  Whitney.  She  knew  how  quickly  she  would  her 
self  cut  off  a  child  of  hers  who  was  obstinately  disobedient, 
and,  while  she  felt  that  it  would  be  an  outrage  for  Hiram  Ran 
ger  to  cut  off  his  son  for  making  what  she  regarded  as  the  be 
ginning  of  the  highest  career,  the  career  of  "  gentleman,"  still 
she  could  not  dispute  his  right  to  do  so.  "  Your  father  may 
not  see  your  rights  in  the  same  light  that  you  do,  Arthur," 
said  she  mildly.  "  If  I  were  you,  I'd  be  careful." 

Arthur  reflected.  "  I  don't  think  it's  possible,"  said  he, 
"  but  I  guess  you're  right.  I  must  not  forget  that  I've  got 
others  to  think  of  besides  myself." 

This  patently  meant  Janet;  Mrs.  Whitney  held  her  dis 
creet  tongue. 

"  It  will  do  no  harm  to  go  to  the  office,"  she  presently 
continued.  "  You  ought  to  get  some  knowledge  of  business, 
anyhow.  You  will  be  a  man  of  property  some  day,  and  you 
will  need  to  know  enough  about  business  to  be  able  to  super 
vise  the  managers  of  your  estate.  You  know,  I  had  Janet  take 
a  course  at  a  business  college,  last  winter,  and  Ross  is  in  with 
his  father  and  will  be  active  for  several  years." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  on  Monday  morning  at  nine  Ar 
thur  sauntered  into  the  offices  of  the  mills.  He  was  in  much 
such  a  tumult  of  anger,  curiosity,  stubbornness,  and  nervous- 

53 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

ness  as  agitates  a  child  on  its  first  appearance  at  school;  but 
in  his  struggle  not  to  show  his  feelings  he  exaggerated  his 
pose  into  a  seeming  of  bored  indifference.  The  door  of  his 
father's  private  room  was  open ;  there  sat  Hiram,  absorbed 
in  dictating  to  a  stenographer.  When  his  son  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  he  apparently  did  not  realize  it,  though  in  fact  the 
agitation  the  young  man  was  concealing  under  that  unfortu 
nate  manner  was  calmness  itself  in  comparison  with  the  state 
of  mind  behind  Hiram's  mask  of  somber  stolidity. 

"  He's  trying  to  humiliate  me  to  the  depths,"  thought  the 
son,  as  he  stood  and  waited,  not  daring  either  to  advance  or  to 
retreat.  How  could  he  know  that  his  father  was  shrinking 
as  a  criminal  from  the  branding  iron,  that  every  nerve  in  that 
huge,  powerful,  seemingly  impassive  body  was  in  torture  from 
this  ordeal  of  accepting  the  hatred  of  his  son  in  order  that  he 
might  do  what  he  considered  to  be  his  duty?  At  length  the 
young  man  said :  "  I'm  here,  father." 

"  Be  seated — just  a  minute,"  said  the  father,  turning  his 
face  toward  his  boy  but  unable  to  look  even  in  that  direction. 

The  letter  was  finished,  and  the  stenographer  gathered  up 
her  notes  and  withdrew.  Hiram  sat  nerving  himself,  his  dis 
tress  accentuating  the  stern  strength  of  his  features.  Presently 
he  said :  "  I  see  you  haven't  come  dressed  for  work." 

"  Oh,  I  think  these  clothes  will  do  for  the  office,"  said 
Arthur,  with  apparent  carelessness. 

"  But  this  business  isn't  run  from  the  office,"  replied 
Hiram,  with  a  gentle  smile  that  to  the  young  man  looked  like 
the  sneer  of  a  tyrant.  "  It's  run  from  the  mill.  It  prospers 
— it  always  has  prospered — because  I  work  with  the  men.  I 
know  what  they  ought  to  do  and  what  they  are  doing.  We  all 
work  together  here.  There  ain't  a  Sunday  clothes  job  about 
the  place." 

Arthur's  fingers  were  trembling  as  he  pulled  at  his  small 
mustache.  What  did  this  tyrant  expect  of  him?  He  had  as 
sumed  that  a  place  was  to  be  made  for  him  in  the  office,  a 
dignified  place.  There  he  would  master  the  business,  would 
gather  such  knowledge  as  might  be  necessary  successfully  to 

54 


THE    SHATTERED    COLOSSUS 

direct  it,  and  would  bestow  that  knowledge  in  the  humble, 
out-of-the-way  corner  of  his  mind  befitting  matters  of  that 
kind.  And  here  was  his  father,  believing  that  the  same 
coarse  and  toilsome  methods  which  had  been  necessary  for 
himself  were  necessary  for  a  trained  and  cultured  under 
standing! 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  "  asked  Arthur. 

Hiram  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  The  boy  was  going  to 
show  good  sense  and  willingness  after  all.  "  I  guess  you'd 
better  learn  barrel-making  first,"  said  he.  He  rose.  "  I'll  take 
you  to  the  foreman  of  the  cooperage,  and  to-morrow  you  can 
go  to  work  in  the  stave  department.  The  ^first  thing  is  to 
learn  to  make  a  first-class  barrel." 

Arthur  slowly  rose  to  follow.  He  was  weak  with  help 
less  rage.  If  his  father  had  taken  him  into  the  office  and  had 
invited  him  to  help  in  directing  the  intellectual  part  of  that 
great  enterprise,  the  part  that  in  a  way  was  not  without  appeal 
to  the  imagination,  he  felt  that  he  might  gradually  have  ac 
customed  himself  to  it ;  but  to  be  put  into  the  mindless  routine 
of  the  workingman,  to  be  set  about  menial  tasks  which  a 
mere  muscular  machine  could  perform  better  than  he — what 
waste,  what  degradation,  what  insult! 

He  followed  his  father  to  the  cooperage,  the  uproar  of  its 
machinery7  jarring  fiercely  upon  him,  but  not  so  fiercely  as  did 
the  common-looking  men  slaving  in  torn  and  patched  and 
stained  clothing.  He  did  not  look  at  the  foreman  as  his  father 
was  introducing  them  and  ignored  his  proffered  hand.  "  Begin 
him  at  the  bottom,  Patrick,"  explained  Hiram,  "  and  show  him 
no  favors.  We  must  give  him  a  good  education." 

"  That's  right,  Mr.  Ranger,"  said  Patrick,  eying  his  new 
pupil  dubiously.  He  was  not  skilled  in  analysis  of  manner  and 
character,  so  Arthur's  superciliousness  missed  him  entirely  and 
he  was  attributing  the  cold  and  vacant  stare  to  stupidity.  "  A 
regular  damn  dude,"  he  was  saying  to  himself.  "  As  soon 
as  the  old  man's  gone,  some  fellow  with  brains'll  do  him  out 
of  the  business.  If  the  old  man's  wise,  he'll  buy  him  an  an 
nuity,  something  safe  and  sure.  Why  do  so  many  rich  people 

55 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"•£  sons  like  that?  If  I  had  one  of  his  breed  I'd  shake  his 
up  with  a  stave." 

Arthur  mechanically  followed  his  father  back  to  the  office. 
A£  the  door  Hiram,  eager  to  be  rid  of  him,  said:  "  I  reckon 
that's  about  all  we  can  do  to-day.  You'd  better  go  to  Black 
ind  Peters's  and  get  you  some  clothes.  Then  you  can  show 
up  at  the  cooperage  at  seven  to-morrow  morning,  ready  to  put 
in  a  good  day's  work." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder,  and  that  gesture 
and  the  accompanying  look,  such  as  a  surgeon  might  give  his 
<>wn  child  upon  whom  he  was  performing  a  cruelly  painful 
operation,  must  have  caused  some  part  of  what  he  felt  to  pene 
trate  to  the  young  man;  for,  instead  of  bursting  out  at  his 
father,  he  said  appealingly:  "Would  it  be  a  very  great  dis 
appointment  to  you  if  I  were  to  go  into — into  some — some 
other  line?  " 

"What  line?"  asked  Hiram. 

"  I  haven't  settled — definitely.  But  I'm  sure  I'm  not  fitted 
for  this."  He  checked  himself  from  going  on  to  explain  that 
he  thought  it  would  mean  a  waste  of  all  the  refinements  and 
elegancies  he  had  been  at  so  much  pains  to  acquire. 

"  Who's  to  look  after  the  business  when  I'm  gone?  "  asked 
Hiram.  "  Most  of  what  we've  got  is  invested  here.  Who's 
to  look  after  your  mother's  and  sister's  interests,  not  to  speak 
of  your  own  ?  " 

"  I'd  be  willing  to  devote  enough  time  to  it  to  learn  the 
management,"  said  Arthur,  "  but  I  don't  care  to  know  all 
the  details." 

It  was  proof  of  Hiram's  great  love  for  the  boy  that  he 
had  no  impulse  of  anger  at  this  display  of  what  seemed  to  him 
the  most  priggish  ignorance.  "  There's  only  one  way  to  learn," 
said  he  quietly.  "That's  the  way  I've  marked  out  for  you. 
Don't  forget — we  start  up  at  seven.  You  can  breakfast  with 
me  at  a  quarter  past  six,  and  we'll  come  down  together." 

As  Arthur  walked  homeward  he  pictured  himself  in  jump 
er  and  overalls  on  his  way  from  work  of  an  evening — meeting 
the  Whitneys — meeting  Janet  Whitney!  Like  all  Americans, 

56 


THE    SHATTERED    COLOSSUS 

who  become  inoculated  with  "  grand  ideas,"  he  had  the  super- 
sensitiveness  to  appearances  that  makes  foreigners  call  us  the 
most  snobbishly  conventional  people  on  earth.  What  would 
it  avail  to  be  in  character  the  refined  person  in  the  community 
and  in  position  the  admired  person,  if  he  spent  his  days  at 
menial  toil  and  wore  the  livery  of  labor?  He  knew  Janet 
Whitney  would  blush  as  she  bowed  to  him,  and  that  she 
wouldn't  bow  to  him  unless  she  were  compelled  to  do  so  be 
cause  she  had  not  seen  him  in  time  to  escape;  and  he  felt  that 
she  would  be  justified.  The  whole  business  seemed  to  him  a 
hideous  dream,  a  sardonic  practical  joke  upon  him.  Surely, 
surely,  he  would  presently  wake  from  this  nightmare  to  find 
himself  once  more  an  unimperiled  gentleman. 

In  the  back  parlor  at  home  he  found  Adelaide  about  to 
set  out  for  the  Whitneys.  As  she  expected  to  walk  with  Mrs. 
Whitney  for  an  hour  before  lunch  she  was  in  walking  cos 
tume — hat,  dress,  gloves,  shoes,  stockings,  sunshade,  all  the 
simplest,  most  expensive-looking,  most  unpractical-looking 
white.  From  hat  to  heels  she  was  the  embodiment  of  luxurious, 
"  ladylike  "  idleness,  the  kind  that  not  only  is  idle  itself,  but 
also,  being  beautiful,  attractive,  and  compelling,  is  the  cause 
of  idleness  in  others.  She  breathed  upon  Arthur  the  delicious 
perfume  of  the  elegant  life  from  which  he  was  being  thrust  by 
the  coarse  hand  of  his  father — and  Arthur  felt  as  if  he  were 
already  in  sweaty  overalls. 

"Well?"  she  asked. 

"  He's  going  to  make  a  common  workman  of  me,"  said 
Arthur,  sullen,  mentally  contrasting  his  lot  with  hers.  "  And 
he's  got  me  on  the  hip.  I  don't  dare  treat  him  as  he  deserves. 
If  I  did,  he's  got  just  devil  enough  in  him  to  cheat  me  out 
of  my  share  of  the  property.  A  sweet  revenge  he  could  take 
on  me  in  his  will." 

Adelaide  drew  back — was  rudely  thrust  back  by  the  barrier 
between  her  and  her  brother  which  had  sprung  up  as  if  by 
magic.  Across  it  she  studied  him  with  a  pain  in  her  heart 
that  showed  in  her  face.  "  O  Arthur,  how  can  you  think 
such  a  thing!  "  she  exclaimed. 

5  57 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Isn't  it  so  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  He  has  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleases  with  his  own." 
Then  she  softened  this  by  adding,  "  But  he'd  never  do  any 
thing  unjust." 

"  It  isn't  his  own,"  retorted  her  brother.  "  It  belongs 
to  us  all." 

"  We  didn't  make  it,"  she  insisted.  "  We  haven't  any 
right  to  it,  except  to  what  he  gives  us." 

"Then  you  think  we're  living  on  his  charity?" 

"  No — not  just  that,"  she  answered  hesitatingly.  "  I've 
never  thought  it  out — never  have  thought  about  it  at  all." 

"  He  brought  us  into  the  world,"  Arthur  pursued.  "  He 
has  accustomed  us  to  a  certain  station — to  a  certain  way  of 
living.  It's  his  duty  in  honesty  and  in  honor  to  do  everything 
in  his  power  to  keep  us  there." 

Del  admitted  to  herself  that  this  was  plausible,  but  she 
somehow  felt  that  it  was  not  true.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  if 
parents  bring  their  children  up  to  be  the  right  sort — useful 
and  decent  and  a  credit,"  said  she,  "  they've  done  the  biggest 
part  of  their  duty.  The  money  isn't  so  important,  is  it?  At 
least,  it  oughtn't  to  be." 

Arthur  looked  at  her  with  angry  suspicion.  "  Suppose  he 
made  a  will  giving  it  all  to  you,  Del,"  he  said,  affecting  the 
manner  of  impartial,  disinterested  argument,  "  what  would 
you  do?" 

"  Share  with  you,  of  course,"  she  answered,  hurt  that  he 
should  raise  the  question  at  a  time  when  raising  it  seemed  an 
accusation  of  her,  or  at  least  a  doubt  of  her. 

He  laughed  satirically.  "  That's  what  you  think  now," 
said  he.  "  But,  when  the  time  came,  you'd  be.  married  to  Ross 
Whitney,  and  he'd  show  you  how  just  father's  judgment  of 
me  was,  how  wicked  it  would  be  to  break  his  last  solemn  wish 
and  will,  and  how  unfit  I  was  to  take  care  of  money.  And 
you'd  see  it;  and  the  will  would  stand.  Oh,  you'd  see  it!  I 
know  human  nature.  If  it  was  a  small  estate — in  those  cases 
brothers  and  sisters  always  act  generously — no,  not  always. 
Some  of  'em,  lots  of  'em,  quarrel  and  fight  over  a  few 

58 


THE    SHATTERED    COLOSSUS 

pieces  of  furniture  and  crockery.  But  in  a  case  of  a  big 
estate,  who  ever  heard  of  the  one  that  was  favored  giving  up 
his  advantage  unless  he  was  afraid  of  a  scandal,  or  his  lawyers 
advised  him  he  might  as  well  play  the  generous,  because  he'd 
surely  lose  the  suit  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  Arthur,  I  can't  be  sure  what  I'd  do,"  she 
replied  gently;  "but  I  hope  I'd  not  be  made  altogether  con 
temptible  by  inheriting  a  little  money." 

"  But  it  wouldn't  seem  contemptible,"  he  retorted.  "  It'd 
be  legal  and  sensible,  and  it'd  seem  just.  You'd  only  be  obey 
ing  a  dead  father's  last  wishes  and  guarding  the  interests  of 
your  husband  and  your  children.  They  come  before  brothers." 

"  But  not  before  self-respect,"  she  said  very  quietly.  She 
put  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  pressed  her  cheek  against 
his.  "  Arthur — dear — dear — "  she  murmured,  "  please  don't 
talk  or  think  about  this  any  more.  It — it — hurts."  And  there 
were  hot  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  at  her  heart  a  sense  of  sick 
ness  and  of  fright;  for  his  presentation  of  the  other  side  of 
the  case  made  her  afraid  of  what  she  might  do,  or  be  tempted 
to  do,  in  the  circumstances  he  pictured.  She  knew  she  wouldn't 
— at  least,  not  so  long  as  she  remained  the  person  she  then 
was.  But  how  long  would  that  be?  How  many  years  of 
association  with  her  new  sort  of  friends — with  the  sort  Ross 
had  long  been — with  the  sort  she  was  becoming  more  and 
more  like — how  many,  or,  rather,  how  few  years  would  it 
take  to  complete  the  process  of  making  her  over  into  a  person 
who  would  do  precisely  what  Arthur  had  pictured  ? 

Arthur  had  said  a  great  deal  more  than  he  intended — 
more,  even,  than  he  believed  true.  For  a  moment  he  felt 
ashamed  of  himself;  then  he  reminded  himself  that  he  wasn't 
really  to  blame ;  that,  but  for  his  father's  harshness  toward  him, 
he  would  never  have  had  such  sinister  thoughts  about  him  or 
Adelaide.  Thus  his  apology  took  the  form  of  an  outburst 
against  Hiram.  "  Father  has  brought  out  the  worst  there  is 
in  me!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He  is  goading  me  on  to " 

He  looked  up;  Hiram  was  in  the  doorway.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet.  "  Yes,  I  mean  it !  "  he  cried,  his  brain  confused,  his 

59 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

blood  on  fire.  "  I  don't  care  what  you  do.  Cut  me  off ! 
Make  me  go  to  work  like  any  common  laborer!  Crush  out 
all  the  decency  there  is  in  me !  " 

The  figure  of  the  huge  old  man  was  like  a  storm-scarred 
statue.  The  tragedy  of  his  countenance  filled  his  son  and 
daughter  with  awe  and  terror.  Then,  slowly,  like  a  statue  fall 
ing,  he  stiffly  tilted  forward,  crashed  at  full  length  face  down 
ward  on  the  floor.  He  lay  as  he  had  fallen,  breathing  heavily, 
hoarsely.  And  they,  each  tightly  holding  the  other's  hand  like 
two  little  children,  stood  pale  and  shuddering,  unable  to  move 
toward  the  stricken  colossus. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   WILL 

HEN  Hiram  had  so  far  improved  that  his  period 
of  isolation  was  obviously  within  a  few  days 
of  its  end,  Adelaide  suggested  to  Arthur,  some 
what  timidly,  "  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to 
go  to  work  at  the  mills?  " 

He  frowned.  It  was  bad  enough  to  have 
the  inward  instinct  to  this,  and  to  fight  it  down  anew  each  day 
as  a  temptation  to  weakness  and  cowardice.  That  the  traitor 
should  get  an  ally  in  his  sister — it  was  intolerable.  The  frown 
deepened  into  a  scowl. 

But  Del  had  been  doing  real  thinking  since  she  saw  her 
father  stricken  down,  and  she  was  beginning  clearly  to  see 
his  point  of  view  as  to  Arthur.  That  angry  frown  was  dis 
couraging,  but  she  felt  too  strongly  to  be  quite  daunted.  "  It 
might  help  father  toward  getting  well,"  she  urged,  "  and  make 
such  a  difference — in  every  way." 

"  No  more  hypocrisy.  I  was  right ;  he  was  wrong,"  re 
plied  her  brother.  He  had  questioned  Dr.  Schulze  anxiously 
about  his  father's  seizure ;  and  Schulze,  who  had  taken  a  strong 
fancy  to  him  and  had  wished  to  put  him  at  ease,  declared  that 
the  attack  must  have  begun  at  the  mills,  and  would  probably 
have  brought  Hiram  down  before  he  could  have  reached  home, 
had  he  not  been  so  powerful  of  body  and  of  will.  And  Arthur, 
easily  reassured  where  he  must  be  assured  if  he  was  to  have 
peace  of  mind,  now  believed  that  his  outburst  had  had  no  part 
whatever  in  causing  his  father's  stroke.  So  he  was  all  for  firm 
stand  against  slavery.  "  If  I  yield  an  inch  now,"  he  went  on 
to  Adelaide,  "  he'll  never  stop  until  he  has  made  me  his  slave. 

61 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

He  has  lorded  it  over  those  workingmen  so  long  that  the  least 
opposition  puts  him  in  a  frenzy." 

Adelaide  gave  over,  for  the  time,  the  combat  against  a  stub 
bornness  which  was  an  inheritance  from  his  father.  "  I've  only 
made  him  more  set  by  what  I've  said,"  thought  she.  "  Now, 
he  has  committed  himself.  I  ought  not  to  have  been  so 
tactless." 

Long  after  Hiram  got  back  in  part  the  power  of  speech, 
he  spoke  only  when  directly  addressed,  and  then  after  a  wait 
in  which  he  seemed  to  have  cast  about  for  the  fewest  possible 
words.  After  a  full  week  of  this  emphasized  reticence,  he 
said,  "Where  is  Arthur?" 

Arthur  had  kept  away  because — so  he  told  himself  and 
believed — while  he  was  not  in  the  least  responsible  for  his 
father's  illness,  still  seeing  him  and  being  thus  reminded  of 
their  difference  could  not  but  have  a  bad  effect.  That  par 
ticular  day,  as  luck  would  have  it,  he  for  the  first  time  since 
his  father  was  stricken  had  left  the  grounds.  "  He's  out  driv 
ing,"  said  his  mother. 

"  In  the  tandem  ?  "  asked  Hiram. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ellen,  knowing  nothing  of  the  last  de 
velopment  of  the  strained  relations  between  her  husband  and 
her  "  boy." 

"Then  he  hasn't  gone  to  work?" 

"  He's  stayed  close  to  the  house  ever  since  you  were  taken 
sick,  Hiram,"  said  she,  with  gentle  reproach.  "  He's  been 
helping  me  nurse  you." 

Hiram  did  not  need  to  inquire  how  little  that  meant.  He 
knew  that,  when  anyone  Ellen  Ranger  loved  was  ill,  she  would 
permit  no  help  in  the  nursing,  neither  by  day  nor  by  night. 
He  relapsed  into  his  brooding  over  the  problem  which  was 
his  sad  companion  each  conscious  moment,  now  that  the  warn 
ing  "  Put  your  house  in  order  "  had  been  so  sternly  emphasized. 

The  day  Dr.  Schulze  let  them  bring  him  down  to  the 
first  floor,  Mrs.  Hastings — "  Mrs.  Fred,"  to  distinguish  her 
from  "  Mrs.  Val  " — happened  to  call.  Mrs.  Ranger  did  not 
like  her  for  two  reasons — first,  she  had  married  her  favorite 

62 


THE   WILL 


cousin,  Alfred  Hastings,  and  had  been  the  "  ruination "  of 
him;  second,  she  had  a  way  of  running  on  and  on  to  everyone 
and  anyone  about  the  most  intimate  family  affairs,  and  close- 
mouthed  Ellen  Ranger  thought  this  the  quintessence  of  indis 
cretion  and  vulgarity.  But  Hiram  liked  her,  was  amused  by 
her  always  interesting  and  at  times  witty  thrusts  at  the  various 
members  of  her  family,  including  herself.  So,  Mrs.  Ranger, 
clutching  at  anything  that  might  lighten  the  gloom  thick  and 
black  upon  him,  let  her  in  and  left  them  alone  together.  With 
so  much  to  do,  she  took  advantage  of  every  moment  which 
she  could  conscientiously  spend  out  of  his  presence. 

At  sight  of  Henrietta,  Hiram's  face  brightened;  and  well 
it  might.  In  old-fashioned  Saint  X  it  was  the  custom  for  a 
married  woman  to  "  settle  down "  as  soon  as  she  returned 
from  her  honeymoon — to  abandon  all  thoughts,  pretensions, 
efforts  toward  an  attractive  exterior,  and  to  become  a 
"  settled "  woman,  "  settled "  meaning  purified  of  the  last 
grain  of  the  vanity  of  trying  to  please  the  eye  or  ear  of  the 
male.  And  conversation  with  any  man,  other  than  her  hus 
band — and  even  with  him,  if  a  woman  were  soundly  virtuous, 
through  and  through — must  be  as  clean  shorn  of  allurement 
as  a  Quaker  meetinghouse.  Mrs.  Fred  had  defied  this  ancient 
and  sacred  tradition  of  the  "  settled  "  woman.  She  had  kept 
her  looks;  she  frankly  delighted  in  the  admiration  of  men. 
And  the  fact  that  the  most  captious  old  maid  in  Saint  X  could 
not  find  a  flaw  in  her  character  as  a  faithful  wife,  aggravated 
the  offending.  For,  did  not  her  devotion  to  her  husband  make 
dangerous  her  example  of  frivolity  retained  and  flaunted,  as  a 
pure  private  life  in  an  infidel  made  his  heresies  plausible  and 
insidious?  At  "  almost  "  forty,  Mrs.  Hastings  looked  "  about  " 
thirty  and  acted  as  if  she  were  a  girl  or  a  widow.  Each  group 
of  gods  seems  ridiculous  to  those  who  happen  not  to  believe 
in  it.  Saint  X's  set  of  gods  of  conventionality  doubtless  seems 
ridiculous  to  those  who  knock  the  dust  before  some  other  set; 
but  Saint  X  cannot  be  blamed  for  having  a  sober  face  before 
its  own  altars,  and  reserving  its  jeers  and  pitying  smiles  for 
deities  of  conventionality  in  high  dread  and  awe  elsewhere. 

63 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

And  if  Mrs.  Fred  had  not  been  "  one  of  the  Fuller  heirs," 
Saint  X  would  have  made  her  feel  its  displeasure,  instead  of 
merely  gossiping  and  threatening. 

"  I'm  going  the  round  of  the  invalids  to-day,"  began  Hen 
rietta,  after  she  had  got  through  the  formula  of  sick-room  con 
versation.  "  I've  just  come  from  old  John  Skeffington.  I 
found  all  the  family  in  the  depths.  He  fooled  'em  again  last 
night." 

Hiram  smiled.  All  Saint  X  knew  what  it  meant  for  old 
Skeffington  to  "  fool  'em  again."  He  had  been  dying  for  three 
years.  At  the  first  news  that  he  was  seized  of  a  mortal  ill 
ness  his  near  relations,  who  had  been  driven  from  him  by  his 
temper  and  his  parsimony,  gathered  under  his  roof  from  far 
and  near,  each  group  hoping  to  induce  him  to  make  a  will  in 
its  favor.  He  lingered  on,  and  so  did  they — watching  each 
other,  trying  to  outdo  each  other  in  complaisance  to  the  humors 
of  the  old  miser.  And  he  got  a  new  grip  on  life  through  his 
pleasure  in  tyrannizing  over  them  and  in  putting  them  to 
great  expense  in  keeping  up  his  house.  He  favored  first  one 
group,  then  another,  taking  fagots  from  fires  of  hope  burning 
too  high  to  rekindle  fires  about  to  expire. 

"How  is  he?"  asked  Hiram. 

"  They  say  he  can't  last  till  fall,"  replied  Henrietta;  "but 
he'll  last  another  winter,  maybe  ten.  Pie's  having  more  and 
more  fun  all  the  time.  He  has  made  them  bring  an  anvil  and 
hammer  to  his  bedside,  and  whenever  he  happens  to  be  sleep 
ing  badly — and  that's  pretty  often — he  bangs  on  the  anvil  until 
the  last  one  of  his  relations  has  got  up  and  come  in;  then, 
maybe  he'll  set  'em  all  to  work  mending  his  fishing  tackle — 
right  in  the  dead  of  night." 

"Are  they  all  there  still?"  asked  Hiram.  "The  Thom 
ases,  the  Wilsons,  the  Frisbies,  and  the  two  Cantwell  old 
maids?" 

"  Everyone — except  Miss  Frisbie.  She's  gone  back  home 
to  Rushville,  but  she's  sending  her  sister  on  to  take  her  place 
to-morrow.  I  saw  Dory  Hargrave  in  the  street  a  while  ago. 
You  know  his  mother  was  a  first  cousin  of  old  John's.  I  told 


THE    WILL 


him  he  ought  not  to  let  strangers  get  the  old  man's  money, 
that  he  ought  to  shy  his  castor  into  the  ring." 

"And  what  did  Dory  say?"  asked  Hiram. 

"  He  came  back  at  me  good  and  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Fred, 
with  a  good-humored  laugh.  "  He  said  there'd  been  enough 
people  in  Saint  X  ruined  by  inheritances  and  by  expecting  'in 
heritances.  You  know  the  creek  that  flows  through  the  grave 
yard  has  just  been  stopped  from  seeping  into  the  reservoir. 
Well,  Dory  spoke  of  that  and  said  there  was,  and  always  had 
been,  flowing  from  every  graveyard  a  stream  far  more  poi 
sonous  than  any  graveyard  creek,  yet  nobody  talked  of 
stopping  it." 

The  big  man,  sitting  with  eyes  downcast,  began  to  rub 
his  hands,  one  over  the  other — a  certain  sign  that  he  was 
thinking  intently. 

11  There's  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  what  he  said,"  she  went 
on.  "  Look  at  our  family,  for  instance.  We've  been  living 
on  an  allowance  from  Grandfather  Fuller  in  Chicago  for  forty 
years.  None  of  us  has  ever  done  a  stroke  of  work;  we've 
simply  been  waiting  for  him  to  die  and  divide  up  his  millions. 
Look  at  us!  Bill  and  Tom  drunkards,  Dick  a  loafer  without 
even  the  energy  to  be  a  drunkard ;  Ed  dead  because  he  was  too 
lazy  to  keep  alive.  Alice  and  I  married  nice  fellows;  but  as 
soon  as  they  got  into  our  family  they  began  to  loaf  and  wait. 
We've  been  waiting  in  decent,  or  I  should  say,  indecent,  pov 
erty  for  forty  years,  and  we're  still  waiting.  We're  a  lot  of 
paupers.  We're  on  a  level  with  the  Wilmots." 

"  Yes — there  are  the  Wilmots,  too,"  said  Hiram  absently. 

"  That's  another  form  of  the  same  disease,"  Henrietta  went 
on.  "  Did  you  know  General  Wilmot?  " 

"  He  was  a  fine  man,"  said  Hiram,  "  one  of  the  founders 
of  this  town,  and  he  made  a  fortune  out  of  it.  He  got  over 
bearing,  and  what  he  thought  was  proud,  toward  the  end  of 
his  life.  But  he  had  a  good  heart  and  worked  for  all  he  had 
— honest  work." 

"  And  he  brought  his  family  up  to  be  real  down-East  gen 
tlemen  and  ladies,"  resumed  Henrietta.  "  And  look  at  'em. 

65 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

They  lost  the  money,  because  they  were  too  gentlemanly  and 
too  ladylike  to  work  to  hold  on  to  it.  And  there  they  live 
in  the  big  house,  half-starved.  Why,  really,  Mr.  Ranger, 
they  don't  have  enough  to  eat.  And  they  dress  in  clothes  that 
have  been  in  the  family  for  a  generation.  They  make  their 
underclothes  out  of  old  bed  linen.  And  the  grass  on  their 
front  lawns  is  three  feet  high,  and  the  moss  and  weeds  cover 
and  pry  up  the  bricks  of  their  walks.  They're  too  '  proud ' 
to  work  and  too  poor  to  hire.  How  much  have  they  borrowed 
from  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Hiram.     "  Not  much." 

"  I  know  better — and  you  oughtn't  to  have  lent  them  a 
cent.  Yesterday  old  Wilmot  was  hawking  two  of  his  grand 
father's  watches  about.  And  all  the  Wilmots  have  got  brains, 
just  as  our  family  has.  Nothing  wrong  with  either  of  us,  but 
that  stream  Dory  Hargrave  was  talking  about." 

"  There's  John  Dumont,"  mused  Ranger. 

"  Yes — he  is  an  exception.  But  what's  he  doing  with  what 
his  father  left  him?  I  don't  let  them  throw  dust  in  my  eyes 
with  his  philanthropy  as  they  call  it.  The  plain  truth  is  he's 
a  gambler  and  a  thief,  and  he  uses  what  his  father  left  him 
to  be  gambler  and  thief  on  the  big  scale,  and  so  keep  out 
of  the  penitentiary — '  finance,'  they  call  it.  If  he'd  been  poor, 
he'd  have  been  in  jail  long  ago — no,  he  wouldn't — he'd  have 
done  differently.  It  was  the  money  that  started  him  wrong." 

"  A  great  deal  of  good  can  be  done  with  money,"  said 
Hiram. 

"Can  it?"  demanded  Mrs.  Fred.  "It  don't  look  that 
way  to  me.  I'm  full  of  this,  for  I  was  hauling  my  Alfred 
over  the  coals  this  very  morning  " — she  laughed — "  for  being 
what  I've  made  him,  for  doing  what  I'd  do  in  his  place — 
for  being  like  my  father  and  my  brothers.  It  seems  to  me, 
precious  little  of  the  alleged  good  that's  done  with  wealth  is 
really  good;  and  what  little  isn't  downright  bad  hides  the 
truth  from  people.  Talk  about  the  good  money  does!  What 
does  it  amount  to — the  good  that's  good,  and  the  good 
that's  rotten  bad?  What  does  it  all  amount  to  beside  the 

66 


THE    WILL 


good  that  having  to  work  does?  People  that  have  to  work 
hard  are  usually  honest  and  have  sympathy  and  affection  and 
try  to  amount  to  something.  And  if  they  are  bad,  why  at 
least  they  can't  hurt  anybody  but  themselves  very  much,  where 
a  John  Dumont  or  a  Skeffington  can  injure  hundreds — thou 
sands.  Take  your  own  case,  Mr.  Ranger.  Your  money  has 
never  done  you  any  good.  It  was  your  hard  work.  All  your 
money  has  ever  done  has  been —  Do  you  think  your  boy  and 
girl  will  be  as  good  a  man  and  woman,  as  useful  and  creditable 
to  the  community,  as  you  and  Cousin  Ellen  ?  " 

Hiram  said  nothing;  he  continued  to  slide  his  great,  strong, 
useful-looking  hands  one  over  the  other. 

"  A  fortune  makes  a  man  stumble  along  if  he's  in  the  right 
road,  makes  him  race  along  if  he's  in  the  wrong  road,"  con 
cluded  Henrietta. 

"  You  must  have  been  talking  a  great  deal  to  young  Har- 
grave  lately,"  said  Hiram  shrewdly. 

She  blushed.  "  That's  true,"  she  admitted,  with  a  laugh. 
"  But  I'm  not  altogether  parroting  what  he  said.  I  do  my 
own  thinking."  She  rose.  "  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  cheered  you 
up  much." 

"  I'm  glad  you  came,"  replied  Hiram  earnestly;  then,  with 
an  admiring  look,  "  It's  a  pity  some  of  the  men  of  your  family 
haven't  got  your  energy." 

She  laughed.  "  They  have,"  said  she.  "  Every  one  of  us 
is  a  first-rate  talker — and  that's  all  the  energy  I've  got — energy 
to  wag  my  tongue.  Still —  You  didn't  know  I'd  gone  into 
business?  " 

"Business?" 

"  That  is,  I'm  backing  Stella  Wilmot  in  opening  a  little 
shop — to  sell  millinery." 

"A  Wilmot  at  work!"  exclaimed  Hiram. 

"  A  Wilmot  at  work,"  affirmed  Henrietta.  "  She's  more 
like  her  great  grandfather;  you  know  how  a  bad  trait  will 
skip  several  generations  and  then  show  again.  The  Wilmots 
have  been  cultivating  the  commonness  of  work  out  of  their 
blood  for  three  generations,  but  it  has  burst  in  again.  She 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

made  a  declaration  of  independence  last  week.  She  told  the 
family  she  was  tired  of  being  a  pauper  and  beggar.  And  when 
I  heard  she  wanted  to  do  something  I  offered  to  go  in  with  her 
in  a  business.  She's  got  a  lot  of  taste  in  trimming  hats.  She 
certainly  has  had  experience  enough." 

"  She  always  looks  well,"  said  Hiram. 

"  And  you'd  wonder  at  it,  if  you  were  a  woman  and  knew 
what  she's  had  to  work  on.  So  I  took  four  hundred  dollars 
grandfather  sent  me  as  a  birthday  present,  and  we're  going 
to  open  up  in  a  small  way.  She's  to  put  her  name  out — 
my  family  won't  let  me  put  mine  out,  too.  '  Wilmot  &  Has 
tings  '  would  sound  well,  don't  you  think?  But  it's  got  to 
be  *  Wilmot  &  Co.'  We've  hired  a  store — No.  263  Monroe 
Street.  We  have  our  opening  in  August." 

"  Do  you  need  any — "  began  Hiram. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  cut  in,  with  a  laugh.  "  This  is  a 
close  corporation.  No  stock  for  sale.  We  want  to  hold  on 
to  every  cent  of  the  profits." 

"  Well,"  said  Hiram,  "  if  you  ever  do  need  to  borrow, 
you  know  where  to  come." 

"  Where  the  whole  town  comes  when  it's  hard  up,"  said 
Henrietta;  and  she  astonished  the  old  man  by  giving  him  a 
shy,  darting  kiss  on  the  brow.  "  Now,  don't  you  tell  your 
wife !  "  she  exclaimed,  laughing  and  blushing  furiously  and 
making  for  the  door. 

When  Adelaide,  sent  by  her  mother,  came  to  sit  with  him, 
he  said:  "  Draw  the  blinds,  child,  and  leave  me  alone.  I  want 
to  rest."  She  obeyed  him.  At  intervals  of  half  an  hour  she 
opened  the  door  softly,  looked  in  at  him,  thought  he  was 
asleep,  and  went  softly  away.  But  he  had  never  been  further 
from  sleep  in  his  life.  Henrietta  Hastings's  harum-scarum  gos 
siping  and  philosophizing  happened  to  be  just  what  his  troubled 
mind  needed  to  precipitate  its  clouds  into  a  solid  mass  that 
could  be  clearly  seen  and  carefully  examined.  Heretofore  he 
had  accepted  the  conventional  explanations  of  all  the  ultimate 
problems,  had  regarded  philosophers  as  time  wasters,  own 
brothers  to  the  debaters  who  whittled  on  dry-goods  boxes  at 

68 


THE    WILL 


the  sidewalk's  edge  in  summer  and  about  the  stoves  in  the 
rear  of  stores  in  winter,  settling  all  affairs  save  their  own. 
But  now,  sitting  in  enforced  inaction  and  in  the  chill  and 
calm  which  diffuses  from  the  tomb,  he  was  using  the  unused, 
the  reflective,  half  of  his  mind. 

Even  as  Henrietta  was  talking,  he  began  to  see  what 
seemed  to  him  the  hidden  meaning  in  the  mysterious  "  Put 
your  house  in  order  "  that  would  give  him  no  rest.  But  he 
was  not  the  man  to  make  an  important  decision  in  haste, 
was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  inflict  discomfort,  much  less 
pain,  upon  anyone,  unless  the  command  to  do  it  came  unmis 
takably  in  the  one  voice  he  dared  not  disobey.  Day  after  day 
he  brooded;  night  after  night  he  fought  to  escape.  But, 
slowly,  inexorably,  his  iron  inheritance  from  Covenanter  on 
one  side  and  Puritan  on  the  other  asserted  itself.  Heartsick, 
and  all  but  crying  out  in  anguish,  he  advanced  toward  the 
stern  task  which  he  could  no  longer  deny  or  doubt  that  the 
Most  High  God  had  set  for  him. 

He  sent  for  Dory  Hargrave's  father. 

Mark  Hargrave  was  president  of  the  Tecumseh  Agricul 
tural  and  Classical  University,  to  give  it  its  full  legal  entitle 
ments.  It  consisted  in  a  faculty  of  six,  including  Dr.  Har 
grave,  and  in  two  meager  and  modest,  almost  mean  "  halls," 
and  two  hundred  acres  of  land.  There  were  at  that  time  just 
under  four  hundred  students,  all  but  about  fifty  working  their 
way  through.  So  poor  was  the  college  that  it  was  kept  going 
only  by  efforts,  the  success  of  which  seemed  miraculous  inter 
ventions  of  Providence.  They  were  so  regarded  by  Dr.  Har 
grave,  and  the  stubbornest  infidel  must  have  conceded  that  he 
was  not  unjustified. 

As  Hargrave,  tall  and  spare,  his  strong  features  illumined 
by  life-long  unselfish  service  to  his  fellow-men,  came  into 
Hiram  Ranger's  presence,  Hiram  shrank  and  grew  gray  as  his 
hair.  Hargrave  might  have  been  the  officer  come  to  lead  him 
forth  to  execution. 

"  If  you  had  not  sent  for  me,   Mr.   Ranger,"   he  began, 

69 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

after  the  greetings,  "  I  should  have  come  of  my  own  accord 
within  a  day  or  two.  Latterly  God  has  been  strongly  mov 
ing  me  to  lay  before  you  the  claims  of  my  boys — of  the 
college." 

This  was  to  Hiram  direct  confirmation  of  his  own  con 
victions.  He  tried  to  force  his  lips  to  say  so,  but  they  would 
not  move. 

"  You  and  Mrs.  Ranger,"  Hargrave  went  on,  "  have  had 
a  long  life,  full  of  the  consciousness  of  useful  work  well  done. 
Your  industry,  your  fitness  for  the  just  use  of  God's  treasure, 
has  been  demonstrated,  and  He  has  made  you  stewards  of 
much  of  it.  And  now  approaches  the  final  test,  the  greatest 
test,  of  your  fitness  to  do  His  work.  In  His  name,  my  old 
friend,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  His  treasure?" 

Hiram  Ranger's  face  lighted  up.  The  peace  that  was  en 
tering  his  soul  lay  upon  the  tragedy  of  his  mental  and  physi 
cal  suffering  soft  and  serene  and  sweet  as  moonlight  beautify 
ing  a  ruin.  "  That's  why  I  sent  for  you,  Mark,"  he  said. 

"  Hiram,  are  you  going  to  leave  your  wealth  so  that  it  may 
continue  to  do  good  in  the  world?  Or,  are  you  going  to  leave 
it  so  that  it  may  tempt  your  children  to  vanity  and  selfishness, 
to  lives  of  idleness  and  folly,  to  bring  up  their  children  to  be 
even  less  useful  to  mankind  than  they,  even  more  out  of  sym 
pathy  with  the  ideals  which  God  has  implanted?  All  of  those 
ideals  are  attainable  only  through  shoulder-to-shoulder  work 
such  as  you  have  done  all  your  life." 

"God  help  me!  "  muttered  Hiram.  The  sweat  was  bead 
ing  his  forehead  and  his  hands  were  clasped  and  wrenching 
each  at  the  other,  typical  of  the  two  forces  contending  in  final 
battle  within  him.  "  God  help  me!  " 

"  Have  you  ever  looked  about  you  in  this  town  and  thought 
of  the  meaning  of  its  steady  decay,  moral  and  physical?  God 
prospered  the  hard-working  men  who  founded  it;  but,  instead 
of  appreciating  His  blessings,  they  regarded  the  wealth  He 
gave  them  as  their  own ;  and  they  left  it  to  their  children.  And 
see  how  their  sin  is  being  visited  upon  the  third  and  fourth 
generations!  Industry  has  been  slowly  paralyzing.  The 

70 


THE    WILL 


young  people,  whose  wealth  gave  them  the  best  opportunities, 
are  leading  idle  lives,  are  full  of  vanity  of  class  and  caste,  are 
steeped  in  the  sins  that  ever  follow  in  the  wake  of  idleness 
— the  sins  of  selfishness  and  indulgence.  Instead  of  being 
workers,  leading  in  the  march  upward,  instead  of  taking  the 
position  for  which  their  superior  opportunities  should  have  fitted 
them,  they  set  an  example  of  idleness  and  indolence.  They 
despise  their  ancestry  of  toil  which  should  be  their  pride. 
They  pride  themselves  upon  the  parasitism  which  is  th'eir 
shame.  And  they  set  before  the  young  an  example  of  con 
tempt  for  work,  of  looking  on  it  as  a  curse  and  a  disgrace." 

"  i  have  been  thinking  of  these  things  lately,"  said  Hiram. 

"  It  is  the  curse  of  the  world,  this  inherited  wealth,"  cried 
Hargrave.  "  Because  of  it  humanity  moves  in  circles  instead 
of  forward.  The  ground  gained  by  the  toiling  generations, 
is  lost  by  the  inheriting  generations.  And  this  accursed  in 
heritance  tempts  men  ever  to  long  for  and  hope  for  that  which 
they  have  not  earned.  God  gave  man  a  trial  of  the  plan  of 
living  in  idleness  upon  that  which  he  had  not  earned,  and 
man  fell.  Then  God  established  the  other  plan,  and  through 
it  man  has  been  rising — but  rising  slowly  and  with  many  a 
backward  slip,  because  he  has  tried  to  thwart  the  Divine  plan 
with  the  system  of  inheritance.  Fortunately,  the  great  mass  of 
mankind  has  had  nothing  to  leave  to  heirs,  has  had  no  hope  of 
inheritances.  Thus,  new  leaders  have  ever  been  developed  in 
place  of  those  destroyed  by  inherited  prosperity.  But,  un 
fortunately,  the  law  of  inheritance  has  been  able  to  do  its 
devil's  work  upon  the  best  element  in  every  human  society, 
upon  those  who  had  the  most  efficient  and  exemplary  parents, 
and  so  had  the  best  opportunity  to  develop  into  men  and 
women  of  the  highest  efficiency.  No  wonder  progress  is  slow, 
when  the  leaders  of  each  generation  have  to  be  developed  from 
the  bottom  all  over  again,  and  wThen  the  ideal  of  useful  work 
is  obscured  by  the  false  ideal  of  living  without  work.  Wait 
ing  for  dead  men's  shoes!  Dead  men's  shoes  instead  of  shoes 
of  one's  own." 

"  Dead  men's  shoes,"  muttered  Hiram. 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  The  curse  of  unearned  wealth,"  went  on  his  friend. 
"  Your  life,  Hiram,  leaves  to  your  children  the  injunction  to 
work,  to  labor  cheerfully  and  equally,  honestly  and  helpfully, 
with  their  brothers  and  sisters;  but  your  wealth —  If  you 
leave  it  to  them,  will  it  not  give  that  injunction  the  lie,  will 
it  not  invite  them  to  violate  that  injunction?  " 

"  I  have  been  watching  my  children,  my  boy,  especially," 
said  Hiram.  "  I  don't  know  about  all  this  that  you've  been 
saying.  It's  a  big  subject;  but  I  do  know  about  this  boy  of 
mine.  I  wish  I'd  'a'  taken  your  advice,  Mark,  and  put  him 
in  your  school.  But  his  mother  was  set  on  the  East — on  Har 
vard."  Tears  were  in  his  eyes  at  this.  He  remembered  how 
she,  knowing  nothing  of  college,  but  feeling  it  was  her  duty 
to  have  her  children  educated  properly,  a  duty  she  must  not 
put  upon  others,  had  sent  for  the  catalogues  of  all  the  famous 
colleges  in  the  country.  He  could  see  her  poring  over  the 
catalogues,  balancing  one  offering  of  educational  advantage 
against  another,  finally  deciding  for  Harvard,  the  greatest  of 
them  all.  He  could  hear  her  saying:  "  It'll  cost  a  great  deal, 
Hiram.  As  near  as  I  can  reckon  it  out  it'll  cost  about  a  thou 
sand  dollars  a  year — twelve  hundred  if  we  want  to  be  v-e-r-y 
liberal,  so  the  catalogue  says.  But  Harvard's  the  biggest,  and 
has  the  most  teachers  and  scholars,  and  takes  in  all  the 
branches.  And  we  ought  to  give  our  Arthur  the  best."  And 
now —  By  what  bitter  experience  had  he  learned  that  the 
college  is  not  in  the  catalogue,  is  a  thing  apart,  unrelated  and 
immeasurably  different!  His  eyes  were  hot  with  anger  as  he 
thought  how  the  boy's  mother,  honest,  conscientious  Ellen,  had 
been  betrayed. 

"  Look  here,  Mark,"  he  blazed  out,  "  if  I  leave  money  to 
your  college  I  want  to  see  that  it  can't  ever  be  like  them  east 
ern  institutions  of  learning."  He  made  a  gesture  of  disgust. 
"Learning!" 

"  If  you  leave  us  anything,  Hiram,  leave  it  so  that  any 
young  man  who  gets  its  advantages  must  work  for  them." 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Hiram.  "That's  what  I  want. 
Can  you  draw  me  up  that  kind  of  plan?  No  boy,  no  matter 

7? 


THE    WILL 


what  he  has  at  home,  can  come  to  that  there  college  without 
working  his  way  through,  without  learning  to  work,  me  to 
provide  the  chance  to  earn  the  living." 

"  I  have  just  such  a  plan,"  said  Hargrave,  drawing  a  paper 
from  his  pocket.  "  I've  had  it  ready  for  years  waiting  for  just 
such  an  opportunity." 

"  Read  it,"  said  Hiram,  sinking  deep  in  his  big  chair  and 
closing  his  eyes  and  beginning  to  rub  his  forehead  with  his 
great  hand. 

And  Hargrave  read,  forgetting  his  surroundings,  forget 
ting  everything  in  his  enthusiasm  for  this  dream  of  his  life — 
a  university,  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name,  which  would  attract 
the  ambitious  children  of  rich  and  well-to-do  and  poor,  would 
teach  them  how  to  live  honestly  and  nobly,  would  give  them 
not  only  useful  knowledge  to  work  with  but  also  the  light  to 
work  by.  "  You  see,  Hiram,  I  think  a  child  ought  to  begin 
to  be  a  man  as  soon  as  he  begins  to  live — a  man,  standing  on 
his  own  feet,  in  his  own  shoes,  with  the  courage  that 
comes  from  knowing  how  to  do  well  something  which  the 
world  needs." 

He  looked  at  Hiram  for  the  first  time  in  nearly  half  an 
hour.  He  was  alarmed  by  the  haggard,  ghastly  gray  of  that 
majestic  face;  and  his  thought  was  not  for  his  plan  probably 
about  to  be  thwarted  by  the  man's  premature  death,  but  of  his 
own  selfishness  in  wearying  and  imperiling  him  by  impor 
tunity  at  such  a  time.  "  But  we'll  talk  of  this  again,"  he  said 
sadly,  putting  the  paper  in  his  pocket  and  rising  for  instant 
departure. 

"  Give  me  the  paper,"  said  Hiram,  putting  out  his  trem 
bling  hand,  but  not  lifting  his  heavy,  blue-black  lids. 

Mark  gave  it  to  him  hesitatingly.  "  You'd  better  put  it 
off  till  you're  stronger,  Hirarn." 

"  I'll  see,"  said  Hiram.    "  Good  morning,  Mark." 

Judge  Torrey  was  the  next  to  get  Ranger's  summons;  it 
came  toward  mid-afternoon  of  that  same  day.     Like  Hargrave, 
Torrey  had  been  his  life-long  friend. 
6  73 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Torrey,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  examine  this  plan  tr- 
and  he  held  up  the  paper  Hargrave  had  left — "  and,  if  it  is 
not  legal,  put  it  into  legal  shape,  and  incorporate  it  into  my 
will.  I  feel  I  ain't  got  much  time."  With  a  far-away,  listen 
ing  look — "  I  must  put  my  house  in  order — in  order.  Draw 
up  a  will  and  bring  it  to  me  before  five  o'clock.  I  want  you 
to  write  it  yourself — trust  no  one — no  one !  "  His  eyes  were 
bright,  his  cheeks  bluish,  and  he  spoke  in  a  thick,  excited  voice 
that  broke  and  shrilled  toward  the  end  of  each  sentence. 

"  I  can't  do  it  to-day.    Too  much  haste " 

"To-day!"  commanded  Hiram.  "I  won't  rest  till  it's 
done!" 

"  Of  course,  I  can " 

"  Read  the  paper  now,  and  give  me  your  opinion." 

Torrey  put  on  his  glasses,  opened  the  paper.  "  Oh !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  I  remember  this.  It's  in  my  partner's  handwrit 
ing.  Hargrave  had  Watson  draw  it  up  about  five  years  ago. 
We  were  very  careful  in  preparing  it.  It  is  legal." 

"  Very  well,"  continued  Hiram.  "  Now  I'll  give  you  the 
points  of  my  will." 

Torrey  took  notebook  and  pencil  from  his  pocket. 

"  First,"  began  Hiram,  as  if  he  were  reciting  something 
he  had  learned  by  heart,  "  to  my  wife,  Ellen,  this  house  and 
everything  in  it,  and  the  grounds  and  all  the  horses  and  car 
riages  and  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Yes,"  said  Torrey,  looking  up  from  his  note  making. 

"  Second,  to  my  wife  an  income  of  seven  thousand  a  year 
for  life — that  is  what  it  cost  her  and  me  to  live  last  year,  and 
the  children — except  the  extras.  Seven  thousand  for  life — but 
only  for  life." 

"  Yes,"  said  Torrey,  his  glance  at  Hiram  now  uneasy  and 
expectant. 

"  Third,  to  my  daughter,  Adelaide,  two  thousand  a  year 
for  her  life — to  be  divided  among  her  daughters  equally,  if  she 
have  any;  if  not,  to  revert  to  my  estate  at  her  death." 

11  Yes,"  said  Torrey. 

"  Fourth,  to  my  son,  five  thousand  dollars  in  cash." 

74 


THE    WILL 


A  long  pause,  Torrey  looking  at  his  old  friend  and  client 
as  if  he  thought  one  or  the  other  of  them  bereft  of  hte  senses. 
At  last,  he  said,  "  Yes,  Hiram." 

"  Fifth,  to  my  brothers,  Jacob  and  Ezra,  four  hundred 
dollars  each,"  continued  Hiram,  in  his  same  voice  of  repeat 
ing  by  rote,  "  and  to  my  sister  Prudence,  five  thousand  dollars 
— so  fixed  that  her  husband  can't  touch  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Torrey. 

"  Sixth,  the  rest  of  my  estate  to  be  made  into  a  trust,  with 
Charles  Whitney  and  Mark  Hargrave  and  Hampden  Scar 
borough  trustees,  with  power  to  select  their  successors.  The 
trust  to  be  administered  for  the  benefit  of  Tecumseh  University 
under  the  plan  you  have  there." 

Torrey  half-rose  from  his  chair,  his  usually  calm  features 
reflecting  his  inner  contention  of  grief,  alarm,  and  protest. 
But  there  was  in  Hiram's  face  that  which  made  him  sink 
back  without  having  spoken. 

"  Seventh,"  continued  Hiram,  "  the  mills  and  the  cooper 
age  to  be  continued  as  now,  and  not  to  be  sold  for  at  least 
fifteen  years.  If  my  son  Arthur  wishes  to  have  employment 
in  them,  he  is  to  have  it  at  the  proper  wages  for  the  work  he 
does.  If  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years  he  wishes  to  buy  them,  he 
to  have  the  right  to  buy,  that  is,  my  controlling  interest  in 
them,  provided  he  can  make  a  cash  payment  of  ten  per  cent 
of  the  then  value;  and,  if  he  can  do  that,  he  is  to  have  ten 
years  in  which  to  complete  the  payment — or  longer,  if  the 
trustees  think  it  wise." 

A  long  pause;  Hiram  seemed  slowly  to  relax  and  collapse 
like  a  man  stretched  on  the  rack,  who  ceases  to  suffer  either 
because  the  torture  is  ended  or  because  his  nerves  mercifully 
refuse  to  register  any  more  pain.  "That  is  all,"  he  said 
wearily. 

Torrey  wiped  his  glasses,  put  them  on,  wiped  them  again, 
hung  them  on  the  hook  attached  to  the  lapel  of  his  waistcoat, 
put  them  on,  studied  the  paper,  then  said  hesitatingly:  "As 
one  of  your  oldest  friends,  Hiram,  and  in  view  of  the  sur 
prising  nature  of  the — the " 

75 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  it,"  interrupted  Hiram,  with 
that  gruff  finality  of  manner  which  he  always  used  to  hide 
his  softness,  and  which  deceived  everyone,  often  even  his  wife. 
"  Come  back  at  five  o'clock  with  two  witnesses." 

Torrey  rose,  his  body  shifting  with  his  shifting  mind  as 
he  cast  about  for  an  excuse  for  lingering.  "  Very  well, 
Hiram,"  he  finally  said.  As  he  shook  hands,  he  blurted  out 
huskily,  "  The  boy's  a  fine  young  fellow,  Hi.  It  don't  seem 
right  to  disgrace  him  by  cutting  him  off  this  way." 

Hiram  winced.  "  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  He  had  been 
overlooking  the  public — how  the  town  would  gossip  and  in 
sinuate.  "  Put  in  this,  Torrey,"  he  resumed  after  reflecting. 
And  deliberately,  with  long  pauses  to  construct  the  phrases,  he 
dictated:  "  I  make  this  disposal  of  my  estate  through  my  love 
ior  my  children,  and  because  I  have  firm  belief  in  the  sound 
ness  of  their  character  and  in  their  capacity  to  do  and  to  be. 
I  feel  they  will  be  better  off  without  the  wealth  which  would 
tempt  my  son  to  relax  his  efforts  to  make  a  useful  man  of 
himself  and  would  cause  my  daughter  to  be  sought  for  her 
fortune  instead  of  for  herself." 

"  That  may  quiet  gossip  against  your  children,"  said  Tor 
rey,  when  he  had  taken  down  Hiram's  slowly  enunciated 
words,  "  but  it  does  not  change  the  extraordinary  character 
of  the  will." 

"  John,"  said  Hiram,  "  can  you  think  of  a  single  instance 
in  which  inherited  wealth  has  been  a  benefit,  a  single  case 
where  a  man  has  become  more  of  a  man  than  he  would  if  he 
ihadn'thad  it?" 

Hiram  waited  long.  Torrey  finally  said :  "  That  may  be, 
but — "  But  what?  Torrey  did  not  know,  and  so  came  to 
a  full  stop. 

"  I've  been  trying  for  weeks  to  think  of  one,"  continued 
Hiram,  "  and  whenever  I  thought  I'd  found  one,  I'd  see,  on 
looking  at  all  the  facts,  that  it  only  seemed  to  be  so.  And  I 
recalled  nearly  a  hundred  instances  right  here  in  Saint  X 
where  big  inheritances  or  little  had  been  ruinous." 

"  I  have  never  thought  on  this  aspect  of  the  matter  before," 


THE    WILL 


said  Torrey.  "  But  to  bring  children  up  in  the  expectation  of 
wealth,  and  then  to  leave  them  practically  nothing,  looks  to 
me  like — like  cheating  them." 

"  It  does,  John,"  Hiram  answered.  "  I've  pushed  my  boy 
and  my  girl  far  along  the  broad  way  that  leads  to  destruction. 
I  must  take  the  consequences.  But  God  won't  let  me  divide 
the  punishment  for  my  sins  with  them.  I  see  my  duty  clear. 
I  must  do  it.  Bring  the  will  at  five  o'clock." 

Hiram's  eyes  were  closed;  his  voice  sounded  to  Torrey  as 
if  it  were  the  utterance  of  a  mind  far,  far  away — as  far  away 
as  that  other  world  which  had  seemed  vividly  real  to  Hiram 
all  his  life;  it  seemed  real  and  near  to  Torrey,  looking  into 
his  old  friend's  face.  "  The  power  that's  guiding  him,"  Tor 
rey  said  to  himself,  "  is  one  I  daren't  dispute  w^ith."  And  he 
went  away  with  noiseless  step  and  with  head  reverently  bent. 


77 


CHAPTER   VI 

MRS.   WHITNEY  NEGOTIATES 

HE  Rangers'  neighbors  saw  the  visits  of  Har- 
grave  and  Torrey.  Immediately  a  rumor  of 
a  bequest  to  Tecumseh  was  racing  through  the 
town  and  up  the  Bluffs  and  through  the  fash 
ionable  suburb.  It  arrived  at  Point  Helen,  the 
seat  of  the  Whitneys,  within  an  hour  after 
Torrey  left  Ranger.  It  had  accumulated  confirmatory  detail 
by  that  time — the  bequest  was  large ;  was  very  large ;  was  half 
his  fortune — and  the  rest  of  the  estate  was  to  go  to  the  col 
lege  should  Arthur  and  Adelaide  die  childless. 

Mrs.  Whitney  lost  no  time.  At  half-past  four  she  was 
seated  in  the  same  chair  in  which  Hargrave  and  Torrey  had 
sat.  It  was  not  difficult  to  bring  up  the  subject  of  the  two 
marriages,  which  were  doubly  to  unite  the  houses  and  for 
tunes  of  Ranger  and  Whitney — the  marriages  of  Arthur  and 
Janet,  of  Ross  and  Adelaide.  "And,  of  course,"  said  Mrs. 
Whitney,  "  we  all  want  the  young  people  started  right.  I 
don't  believe  children  ought  to  feel  dependent  on  their  par 
ents.  It  seems  to  me  that  puts  filial  and  parental  love  on  a 
very  low  plane.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  Hiram. 

"  The  young  people  ought  to  feel  that  their  financial  po 
sition  is  secure.  And,  as  you  and  Ellen  and  Charles  and  I 
have  lived  for  our  children,  have  toiled  to  raise  them  above 
the  sordid  cares  and  anxieties  of  life,  we  ought  to  complete 
our  work  now  and  make  them — happy." 

Hiram  did  not  speak,  though  she  gave  him  ample  time. 
"  So,"  pursued  Mrs.  Whitney,  "  I  thought  I  wouldn't  put 

78 


MRS.    WHITNEY    NEGOTIATES 

off  any  longer  talking  about  what  Charles  and  I  have  had  in 
mind  some  months.  Ross  and  Janet  will  soon  be  here,  and  I 
know  all  four  of  the  children  are  anxious  to  have  the  engage 
ments  formally  completed." 

"Completed?"  said  Hiram. 

"  Yes,"  reaffirmed  Matilda.  "  Of  course  they  can't  be 
completed  until  we  parents  have  done  our  share.  You  and 
Ellen  want  to  know  that  Arthur  and  Adelaide  won't  be  at  the 
mercy  of  any  reverse  in  business  Charles  might  have — or  of 
any  caprice  which  might  influence  him  in  making  his  will. 
And  Charles  and  I  want  to  feel  the  same  way  as  to  our 
Ross  and  Janet." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hiram.  "  I  see."  A  smile  of  stern  irony 
roused  his  features  from  their  repose  into  an  expressiveness  that 
made  Mrs.  Whitney  exceedingly  uncomfortable — but  the  more 
resolute. 

"  Charles  is  willing  to  be  liberal  both  in  immediate  settle 
ment  and  in  binding  himself  in  the  matter  of  his  will,"  she 
went  on.  "  He  often  says,  '  I  don't  want  my  children  to  be 
impatient  for  me  to  die.  I  \vant  to  make  'em  feel  they're  get 
ting,  if  anything,  more  because  I'm  alive.'  " 

A  long  pause,  then  Hiram  said :  "  That's  one  way  of 
looking  at  it." 

"  That's  your  way,"  said  Matilda,  as  if  the  matter  were 
settled.  And  she  smiled  her  softest  and  sweetest.  But  Hiram 
saw  only  the  glitter  in  her  cold  brown  eyes,  a  glitter  as  hard 
as  the  sheen  of  her  henna-stained  hair. 

"  No,"  said  he  emphatically,  "  that's  not  my  way.  That's 
the  broad  and  easy  way  that  leads  to  destruction.  Ellen  and 
I,"  he  went  on,  his  excitement  showing  only  in  his  lapses  into 
dialect,  "  we  hain't  worked  all  our  lives  so  that  our  children'll 
be  shiftless  idlers,  settin'  'round,  polishin'  their  fingernails,  and 
thinkin'  up  foolishness  and  breedin'  fools." 

Matilda  had  always  known  that  Hiram  and  Ellen  were 
hopelessly  vulgar;  but  she  had  thought  they  cherished  a  secret 
admiration  for  the  "  higher  things  "  beyond  their  reach,  and 
were  resolved  that  their  son  should  be  a  gentleman  and  their 

79 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

daughter  a  lady.  She  found  in  Hiram's  energetic  bitterness 
nothing  to  cause  her  to  change  her  view.  "He  simply  wants 
to  hold  on  to  his  property  to  the  last,  and  play  the  tyrant/' 
she  said  to  herself.  "  All  people  of  property  naturally  feel 
that  way."  And  she  held  steadily  to  her  programme.  "  Well, 
Hiram,"  she  proceeded  tranquilly,  "  if  those  marriages  are  to 
take  place,  Charles  and  I  will  expect  you  to  meet  us  halfway." 

"  If  Ross  and  my  Delia  and  Arthur  and  your  Jane  are 
fond  of  each  other,  let  'em  marry  as  you  and  Charles,  as  Ellen 
and  I  married.  I  ain't  buyin'  your  son,  nor  sellin'  my  daughter. 
That's  my  last  word,  Tillie." 

On  impulse,  he  pressed  the  electric  button  in  the  wall  be 
hind  him.  When  the  new  upstairs  girl  came,  he  said :  "  Tell 
the  children  I  want  to  see  'em." 

Arthur  and  Adelaide  presently  came,  flushed  with  the  ex 
ercise  of  the  tennis  the  girl  had  interrupted. 

"  Mrs.  Whitney,  here,"  said  Hiram,  "  tells  me  her  children 
won't  marry  without  settlements,  as  it's  called.  And  I've  been 
tellin'  her  that  my  son  and  daughter  ain't  buyin'  and  sellin'." 

Mrs.  Whitney  hid  her  fury.  "  Your  father  has  a  quaint 
way  of  expressing  himself,"  she  said,  laughing  elegantly.  "  I've 
simply  been  trying  to  persuade  him  to  do  as  much  toward 
securing  the  future  of  you  two  as  Mr.  Whitney  is  willing  to 
do.  Don't  be  absurd,  Hiram.  You  know  better  than  to  talk 
that  way." 

Hiram  looked  steadily  at  her.  "  You've  been  travelin' 
about,  'Tilda,"  he  said,  "  gettin'  together  a  lot  of  newfangled 
notions.  Ellen  and  I  and  our  children  stick  to  the  old  way." 
And  he  looked  at  Arthur,  then  at  Adelaide. 

Their  faces  gave  him  a  twinge  at  the  heart.  "  Speak  up!  " 
he  said.  "  Do  you  or  do  you  not  stick  to  the  old  way?  " 

"  I  can't  talk  about  it,  father,"  was  Adelaide's  evasive 
answer,  her  face  scarlet  and  her  eyes  down. 

"  And  you,  sir?  "  said  Hiram  to  his  son. 

"  You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  sir,"  replied  Arthur  coldly. 

Hiram  winced  before  Mrs.  Whitney's  triumphant  glance. 
He  leaned  forward  and,  looking  at  his  daughter,  said:  "  Del, 

80 


MRS.    WHITNEY    NEGOTIATES 

would  you  marry  a  man  who  wouldn't  take  you  unless  you 
brought  him  a  fortune?  " 

"  No,  father,"  Adelaide  answered.  She  was  meeting  his 
gaze  now.  "  But,  at  the  same  time,  I'd  rather  not  be  depend 
ent  on  my  husband." 

"  Do  you  think  your  mother  is  dependent  on  me?  " 

"  That's  different,"  said  Adelaide,  after  a  pause. 

"How?"  asked  Hiram. 

Adelaide  did  not  answer,  could  not  answer.  To  answer 
honestly  would  be  to  confess  that  which  had  been  troubling 
her  greatly  of  late — the  feeling  that  there  was  something  pro 
foundly  unsatisfactory  in  the  relations  between  Ross  and  her 
self;  that  what  he  was  giving  her  was  different  not  only  in 
degree  but  even  in  kind  from  what  she  wanted,  or  ought  to 
want,  from  what  she  was  trying  to  give  him,  or  thought  she 
ought  to  try  to  give  him. 

"And  you,  Arthur?"  asked  Hiram  in  the  same  solemn, 
appealing  tone. 

"  I  should  not  ask  Janet  to  marry  me  unless  I  was  sure  I 
could  support  her  in  the  manner  to  which  she  is  accustomed," 
said  Arthur.  "  I  certainly  shouldn't  wish  to  be  dependent 
upon  her." 

'  Then,  your  notion  of  marrying  is  that  people  get  married 
for  a  living,  for  luxury.  I  suppose  you'd  expect  her  to  leave 
you  if  you  lost  your  money?  " 

"  That's  different,"  said  Arthur,  restraining  the  impulse  to 
reason  with  his  illogical  father  whose  antiquated  sentimental- 
ism  was  as  unfitted  to  the  new  conditions  of  American  life  as 
were  his  ideas  about  work. 

"  You  see,  Hiram,"  said  Mrs.  Whitney,  good-humoredly, 
"  your  children  outvote  you." 

The  master  workman  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair — not  a  gesture  of  violence,  but  of  dignity  and  power. 
"  I  don't  stand  for  the  notion  that  marriage  is  living  in  luxury 
and  lolling  in  carriages  and  showing  off  before  strangers.  I 
told  you  what  my  last  word  was,  Matilda." 

Mrs.  Whitney  debated  with  herself  full  half  a  minute  be- 

81 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

fore  she  spoke.  In  a  tone  that  betrayed  her  all  but  departed 
hope  of  changing  him,  she  said:  "  It  is  a  great  shock  to  me 
to  have  you  even  pretend  to  be  so  heartless — to  talk  of  breaking 
these  young  people's  hearts — just  for  a  notion." 

"  It's  better  to  break  their  hearts  before  marriage,"  replied 
Hiram,  "  than  to  let  them  break  their  lives,  and  their  hearts, 
too,  on  such  marriages.  The  girl  that  wants  my  son  only  if 
he  has  money  to  enable  her  to  make  a  fool  of  herself,  ain't  fit 
to  be  a  wife — and  a  mother.  As  for  Del  and  Ross —  The 
man  that  looks  at  what  a  woman  has  will  never  look  at  what 
she  is — and  my  daughter's  well  rid  of  him." 

A  painful  silence,  then  Mrs.  Whitney  rose.  "  If  I  hadn't 
suspected,  Hiram,  that  you  intended  to  cheat  your  children  out 
of  their  rights  in  order  to  get  a  reputation  as  a  philanthropist, 
I'd  not  have  brought  this  matter  up  at  this  time.  I  see  my 
instincts  didn't  mislead  me.  But  I  don't  give  up  hope.  I've 
known  you  too  many  years,  Hiram  Ranger,  not  to  know  that 
your  heart  is  in  the  right  place.  And,  after  you  think  it  over, 
you  will  give  up  this  wicked — yes,  wicked — plan  old  Doctor 
Hargrave  has  taken  advantage  of  your  sickness  to  wheedle 
you  into." 

Hiram,  his  face  and  hands  like  yellow  wax,  made  no  answer. 
Arthur  and  Adelaide  followed  Mrs.  Whitney  from  the  room. 
"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Whitney,"  said  Arthur,  gratefully,  when 
they  were  out  of  his  father's  hearing.  "  I  don't  know  what 
has  come  over  him  of  late.  He  has  gone  back  to  his  childhood 
and  under  the  spell  of  the  ideas  that  seemed,  and  no  doubt 
were,  right  then.  I  believe  you  have  set  him  to  thinking.  He's 
the  best  father  in  the  world  when  he  is  well  and  can  see  things 
clearly." 

Mrs.  Whitney  was  not  so  sanguine,  but  she  concealed  it. 
She  appreciated  what  was  troubling  Hiram.  While  she  en 
couraged  her  own  son,  her  Ross,  to  be  a  "  gentleman,"  she  had 
enough  of  the  American  left  to  see  the  flaws  in  that  new  ideal 
of  hers — when  looking  at  another  woman's  son.  And  the 
superciliousness  which  delighted  her  in  Ross,  irritated  her  in 
Arthur;  for,  in  him,  it  seemed  a  sneering  reflection  upon  the 

82 


MRS.    WHITNEY    NEGOTIATES 

humble  and  toilsome  beginnings  of  Charles  and  herself.  She 
believed — not  without  reason — that,  under  Ross's  glossy  veneer 
of  gentleman,  there  was  a  shrewd  and  calculating  nature;  it, 
she  thought,  would  not  permit  the  gentleman  to  make  mess  of 
those  matters,  which,  coarse  and  sordid  though  they  were,  still 
must  be  looked  after  sharply  if  the  gentleman  was  to  be  kept 
going.  But  she  was,  not  unnaturally,  completely  taken  in  b> 
Arthur's  similar  game,  die  more  easily  as  Arthur  put  into  it 
an  intensity  of  energy  which  Ross  had  not.  She  therefore 
thought  Arthur  as  unpractical  as  he  so  fashionably  professed, 
thought  he  accepted  without  reservation  "  our  set's  "  pretenses 
of  aristocracy  for  appearance's  sake,  "  Of  course,  your  father H 
come  round,"  she  said,  friendly  but  not  cordiaL  "  All  that's 
necessary  is  that  you  and  Adelaide  use  a  little  tact." 

And  she  was  in  her  victoria  and  away,  a  very  grand- 
looking  lady,  indeed,  with  two  in  spick  and  span  summer  livery 
on  the  box,  with  her  exquisite  white  and  gold  sunshade,  a  huge 
sapphire  in  the  end  of  the  handle,  a  string  of  diamonds  worth 
a  small  fortune  round  her  neck,  a  gold  bag,  studded  with 
diamonds,  in  her  lap.  and  her  superb  figure  dad  in  a  close- 
fitting  white  cloth  dress.  In  the  gates  she  swept  past  Torrey 
and  his  two  clerks  accompanying  him  as  witnesses.  She  un 
derstood;  her  face  was  anything  but  an  index  to  her  thoughts 
as  she  bowed  and  smiled  graciously  in  response  to  the  old 
judge's  salutation. 

Torrey  read  die  will  to  Hiram  slowly,  pairetf»g  after  each 
paragraph  for  sign  of  approval  or  criticism.  But  Hiram  gave 
no  more  indication  of  his  thought,  by  word  or  expression  or 
motion,  than  if  he  had  been  a  seated  statue.  The  reading  came 
to  an  end,  but  neither  man  spoke.  The  choir  of  birds,  assem 
bled  in  the  great  trees  round  the  house,  flooded  die  room  with 
their  evening  melody.  At  last,  Hiram  said:  "Please  move 
that  table  in  front  of  me." 

Torrey  put  the  table  before  him,  laid  the  will  upon  it  ready 
for  the  signing. 

Hiram  took  a  pen;  Torrey  went  to  the  door  and  broug|it 

83 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

in  the  two  clerks  waiting  in  the  hall.  The  three  men  stood 
watching  while  Hiram's  eyes  slowly  read  each  word  of  the 
will.  He  dipped  the  pen  and,  with  a  hand  that  trembled  in 
spite  of  all  his  obvious  efforts  to  steady  it,  wrote  his  name  on 
the  line  to  which  Torrey  silently  pointed.  The  clerks  signed 
as  witnesses. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Hiram.  "  You  had  better  take  it  with 
you,  judge."' 

"  Very  well,"  said  Torrey,  tears  in  his  eyes,  a  quaver  in 
his  voice. 

A  few  seconds  and  Hiram  was  alone  staring  down  at  the 
surface  of  the  table,  where  he  could  still  see  and  read  the  will. 
His  conscience  told  him  he  had  "  put  his  house  in  order  " ;  but 
he  felt  as  if  he  had  set  fire  to  it  with  his  family  locked  within, 
and  was  watching  it  and  them  burn  to  ashes,  was  hearing 
their  death  cries  and  their  curses  upon  him. 

The  two  young  people,  chilled  by  Mrs.  Whitney's  man 
ner,  flawless  though  it  was,  apparently,  had  watched  with  sink 
ing  hearts  the  disappearance  of  her  glittering  chariot  and  her 
glistening  steeds.  Then  they  had  gone  into  the  garden  before 
Torrey  and  the  clerks  arrived.  And  they  sat  there  thinking 
each  his  own  kind  of  melancholy  thoughts. 

"  What  did  she  mean  by  that  remark  about  Doctor  Har- 
grave?"  asked  Arthur,  after  some  minutes  of  this  heavy 
silence. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Adelaide. 

"  We  must  get  mother  to  go  at  father,"  Arthur  continued. 

Adelaide  made  no  answer. 

Arthur  looked  at  her  irritably.  "  What  are  you  thinking 
about,  Del  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  don't  like  Mrs.  Whitney.    Do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  a  good  enough  imitation  of  the  real  thing,"' 
said  Arthur.  "  You  can't  expect  a  lady  in  the  first  generation." 

Adelaide's  color  slowly  mounted.  "  You  don't  mean  that," 
said  she. 

He  frowned  and  retorted  angrily  "There's  a  great  deal 


MRS.    WHITNEY    NEGOTIATES 

of  truth  that  we  don't  like.  Why  do  you  always  get  mad  at 
me  for  saying  what  we  both  think?" 

"  I  admit  it's  foolish  and  wrong  of  me,"  said  she ;  "  but 
I  can't  help  it.  And  if  I  get  half-angry  with  you,  I  get  wholly 
angry  with  myself  for  being  contemptible  enough  to  think 
those  things.  Don't  you  get  angry  at  yourself  for  thinking 
them?" 

Arthur  laughed  mirthlessly — an  admission. 

"  We  and  father  can't  both  be  right,"  she  pursued.  "  I 
suppose  we're  both  partly  right  and  partly  wrong — that's 
usually  the  way  it  is.  But  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  just 
where  he  begins  to  be  wrong." 

"  Why  not  admit  he's  right  through  and  through,  and  be 
done  with  it?"  cried  Arthur  impatiently.  "Why  not  tell 
him  so,  and  square  yourself  with  him?" 

Adelaide,  too  hurt  to  venture  speech,  turned  away.  She 
lingered  a  while  in  the  library;  on  her  way  down  the  hall  to 
ascend  to  her  own  room  she  looked  in  at  her  father.  There  he 
sat  so  still  that  but  for  the  regular  rise  and  fall  of  his  chest 
she  would  have  thought  him  dead.  "  He's  asleep,"  she  mur 
mured,  the  tears  standing  in  her  eyes  and  raining  in  her  heart. 
Her  mother  she  could  judge  impartially;  her  mother's  disre 
gard  of  the  changes  which  had  come  to  assume  so  much  im 
portance  in  her  own  and  Arthur's  lives  often  made  her  wince. 
But  the  same  disregard  in  a  man  did  not  offend  her;  it  had 
the  reverse  effect.  It  seemed  to  her,  to  the  woman  in  her,  the 
fitting  roughness  of  the  colossal  statue.  "  That's  a  man  \  "  she 
now  said  to  herself  proudly,  as  she  gazed  at  him. 

His  eyes  opened  and  fixed  upon  her  in  a  look  so  agonized, 
that  she  leaned,  faint,  against  the  door  jamb.  "  What  is  it, 
father?  "  she  gasped. 

He  did  not  answer — did  not  move — sat  rigidly  on,  with 
that  expression  unchanging,  as  if  it  had  been  fixed  there  by 
the  sculptor  who  had  made  the  statue.  She  tried  to  go  to  him, 
but  at  the  very  thought  she  was  overwhelmed  by  such  fear 
as  she  had  not  had  since  she,  a  child,  lay  in  her  little  bed  in 
the  dark,  too  terrified  by  the  phantoms  that  beset  her  to  cry 

85 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

out  or  to  move.  "Father!  What  is  it?"  she  repeated,  then 
wheeled  and  fled  along  the  hall  crying:  "Mother!  Mother!" 

Ellen  came  hurrying  down  the  stairs. 

"It's  father!"  cried  Adelaide. 

Together  they  went  into  the  back  parlor.  He  was  still 
motionless,  with  that  same  frozen  yet  fiery  expression.  They 
went  to  him,  tried  to  lift  him.  Ellen  dropped  the  lifeless  arm, 
turned  to  her  daughter.  And  Adelaide  saw  into  her  mother's 
inmost  heart,  saw  the  tragic  lift  of  one  of  those  tremendous 
emotions,  which,  by  their  very  coming  into  a  human  soul,  give 
it  the  majesty  and  the  mystery  of  the  divine. 

"  Telephone  for  Dr.  Schulze,"  she  commanded ;  then,  as 
Adelaide  sped,  she  said  tenderly  to  her  husband :  "  Where  is 
the  pain  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

But  he  did  not  answer.  And  if  he  could  have  answered, 
what  could  she  have  done?  The  pain  was  in  his  heart,  was 
the  burning  agony  of  remorse  for  having  done  that  which  he 
still  believed  to  be  right,  that  which  he  now  thought  he  would 
give  his  soul's  salvation  for  the  chance  to  undo.  For,  as  the 
paralysis  began  to  lock  his  body  fast  in  its  vise,  the  awful 
thought  had  for  the  first  time  come  to  him :  "  When  my  chil 
dren  know  what  I  have  done  they  will  hate  me!  They  will 
hate  me  all  their  lives." 

Dr.  Schulze  examined  him.  "  Somewhat  sooner  than  I  ex 
pected,"  he  muttered. 

"  How  long  will  it  last?  "  said  Ellen. 

"  Some  time  — -  several  weeks  —  months  —  perhaps."  He 
would  let  her  learn  gradually  that  the  paralysis  would  not  re 
lax  its  grip  until  it  had  borne  him  into  the  eternal  prison  and 
had  handed  him  over  to  the  jailer  who  makes  no  deliveries. 


86 


Father!     What  is  it?'   she  repeated." 

[Page  86] 


CHAPTER   VII 

JILTED 

RS.  RANGER  consented  to  a  third  girl,  to  do 
the  additional  heavy  work;  but  a  nurse — no! 
What  had  Hiram  a  wife  for,  and  a  daughter, 
and  a  son,  if  not  to  take  care  of  him?     What 
kind  of  heartlessness  was  this,  to  talk  of  per 
mitting  a  stranger  to  do  the  most  sacred  offices 
of  love?    And  only  by  being  on  the  watch  early  and  late  did 
Adelaide  and  Arthur  prevent  her   doing  everything  for  him 
herself. 

"  Everybody,  nowadays,  has  trained  nurses  in  these  cases," 
said  Dr.  Schulze.  "  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  object  to  the 
expense." 

But  the  crafty  taunt  left  her  as  indifferent  as  did  the  argu 
ment  from  what  "  everybody  does." 

"  I  don't  make  rules  for  others,"  replied  she.  "  I  only  say 
that  nobody  shall  touch  Hiram  but  us  of  his  own  blood.  I 
won't  hear  to  it,  and  the  children  won't  hear  to  it.  They're 
glad  to  have  the  chance  to  do  a  little  something  for  him  that 
has  done  everything  for  them." 

The  children  thus  had  no  opportunity  to  say  whether  they 
would  "  hear  to  it "  or  not.  But  Arthur  privately  suggested 
to  Adelaide  that  she  ought  to  try  to  persuade  her  mother.  "  It 
will  make  her  ill,  all  this  extra  work,"  said  he. 

"  Not  so  quickly  as  having  some  one  about  interfering  with 
her,"  replied  Adelaide. 

"  Then,  too,  it  looks  so  bad — so  stingy  and — and — old- 
fashioned,"  he  persisted. 

8? 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Not  from  mother's  point  of  view,"  said  Adelaide  quietly. 

Arthur  flushed.  "  Always  putting  me  in  the  wrong,"  he 
sneered.  Then,  instantly  ashamed  of  this  injustice,  he  went  on 
in  a  different  tone,  "  I  suppose  this  sort  of  thing  appeals  to  the 
romantic  strain  in  you." 

"  And  in  mother,"  said  Del. 

Whereupon  they  both  smiled.  Romantic  was  about  the 
last  word  anyone  would  think  of  in  connection  with  frankly 
practical  Ellen  Ranger.  She  would  have  died  without  hesita 
tion,  or  lived  in  torment,  for  those  she  loved ;  but  she  would 
have  done  it  in  the  finest,  most  matter-of-fact  way  in  the  world, 
and  without  a  gleam  of  self-conscious  heroics,  whether  of 
boasting  or  of  martyr-meekness  or  of  any  other  device  for 
signaling  attention  to  oneself.  Indeed,  it  would  not  have  oc 
curred  to  her  that  she  was  doing  anything  out  of  the  ordinary. 
Nor,  for  that  matter,  would  she  have  been ;  for,  in  this  world 
the  unheroic  are,  more  often  than  not,  heroes,  and  the  heroic 
usually  most  unheroic.  We  pass  heroism  by  to  toss  our  silly 
caps  at  heroics. 

"  There  are  some  things,  Artie,  our  education  has  been 
taking  out  of  us,"  continued  Del,  "  that  I  don't  believe  we're 
the  better  for  losing.  I've  been  thinking  of  those  things  a 
good  deal  lately,  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
really  is  a  rotten  streak  in  what  we've  been  getting  there  in 
the  East — you  at  Harvard,  I  at  Mrs.  Spenser's  Select  School 
for  Young  Ladies.  There  are  ways  in  which  mother  and 
father  are  better  educated  than  we." 

"  It  does  irritate  me,"  admitted  Arthur,  "  to  find  myself 
caring  so  much  about  the  looks  of  things." 

"  Especially,"  said  Adelaide,  "  when  the  people  whose 
opinion  we  are  afraid  of  are  so  contemptibly  selfish  and  snob 
bish." 

"  Still  mother  and  father  are  narrow-minded,"  insisted  her 
brother. 

"  Isn't  everybody,  about  people  who  don't  think  as 
they  do?" 

"  I've  not  the  remotest  objection  to  their  having  their  own 

88 


JILTED 


views,"  said  Arthur  loftily,  "  so  long  as  they  don't  try  to  en 
force  those  views  on  me." 

"But  do  they?  Haven't  we  been  let  do  about  as  we 
please?" 

Arthur  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  discussion  had  led  up 
to  property  again — to  whether  or  not  his  father  had  the  right 
to  do  as  he  pleased  with  his  own.  And  upon  that  discussion 
he  did  not  wish  to  reenter.  He  had  not  a  doubt  of  the  justice 
of  his  own  views ;  but,  somehow^,  to  state  them  made  him  seem 
sordid  and  mercenary,  even  to  himself.  Being  really  concerned 
for  his  mother's  health,  as  wrell  as  about  "  looks,"  he  strongly 
urged  the  doctor  to  issue  orders  on  the  subject  of  a  nurse. 
"  If  you  demand  it,  mother'll  yield,"  he  said. 

"  But  I  shan't,  young  man,"  replied  Schulze  curtly  and 
with  a  conclusive  squeezing  together  of  his  homely  features. 
"  Your  mother  is  right.  She  gives  your  father  what  money 
can't  buy  and  skill  can't  replace,  what  has  often  and  often 
raised  the  as-good-as-dead.  Some  day,  maybe,  you'll  find  out 
what  that  is.  You  think  you  know  now,  but  you  don't."  And 
there  the  matter  rested. 

The  large  room  adjoining  Hiram  and  Ellen's  bedroom 
was  made  over  into  a  sitting  room.  The  first  morning  on 
which  he  could  be  taken  from  his  bed  and  partially  dressed, 
Mrs.  Ranger  called  in  both  the  children  to  assist  her.  The 
three  tried  to  conceal  their  feelings  as  they,  not  without  physi 
cal  difficulty,  lifted  that  helpless  form  to  the  invalid's  chair 
which  Ellen  wheeled  close  to  the  bedside.  She  herself  wheeled 
him  into  the  adjoining  room,  to  the  window,  with  strands  of 
ivy  waving  in  and  out  in  the  gentle  breeze,  with  the  sun  bright 
and  the  birds  singing,  and  all  the  world  warm  and  vivid  and 
gay.  Hiram's  cheeks  were  wet  with  tears ;  they  saw  some  tre 
mendous  emotion  surging  up  in  him.  He  looked  at  Arthur,  at 
Adelaide,  back  to  Arthur.  Evidently  he  was  trying  to  say 
something — something  wThich  he  felt  must  be  said.  His  right 
arm  trembled,  made  several  convulsive  twitches,  finally  suc 
ceeded  in  lifting  his  right  hand  the  few  inches  to  the  arm  of 
the  chair. 

7  89 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"What  is  it,  father?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes — yes — yes,"  burst  from  him  in  thick,  straining  utter 
ances.  "  Yes — yes — yes." 

Mrs.  Ranger  wiped  her  eyes.  "  He  is  silent  for  hours," 
she  said ;  "  then  he  seems  to  want  to  say  something.  But  when 
he  speaks,  it's  only  as  just  now.  He  says  {  Yes — yes — yes  '  over 
[and  over  again  until  his  strength  gives  out." 

The  bursting  of  the  blood  vessels  in  his  brain  had  torn  out 
the  nerve  connection  between  the  seat  of  power  of  speech  and 
the  vocal  organs.  He  could  think  clearly,  could  put  his 
thoughts  into  the  necessary  words ;  but  when  his  will  sent  what 
he  wished  to  say  along  his  nerves  toward  the  vocal  organs,  it 
encountered  that  gap,  and  could  not  cross  it. 

What  did  he  wish  to  say?  What  was  the  message  that 
could  not  get  through,  though  he  was  putting  his  whole  soul 
into  it?  At  first  he  would  begin  again  the  struggle  to  speak, 
as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  the  last  effort  and  failure; 
then  the  idea  came  to  him  that  if  he  would  hoard  strength, 
he  might  gather  enough  to  force  a  passage  for  the  words — for 
he  did  not  realize  that  the  connection  was  broken,  and  broken 
forever.  So,  he  would  wait,  at  first  for  several  hours,  later 
for  several  days;  and,  when  he  thought  himself  strong  enough 
or  could  no  longer  refrain,  he  would  try  to  burst  the  bonds 
which  seemed  to  be  holding  him.  With  his  children,  or  his 
wife  and  children,  watching  him  with  agonized  faces,  he  would 
make  a  struggle  so  violent,  so  resolute,  that  even  that  dead 
body  was  galvanized  into  a  ghastly  distortion  of  tortured  life. 
Always  in  vain ;  always  the  same  collapse  of  despair  and  ex 
haustion;  the  chasm  between  thought  and  speech  could  not  be 
bridged.  They  brought  everything  they  could  think  of  his  pos 
sibly  wanting;  they  brought  to  his  room  everyone  with  whom 
he  had  ever  had  any  sort  of  more  than  casual  relations — Tor- 
rey,  among  scores  of  others.  But  he  viewed  each  object  and 
each  person  with  the  same  awful  despairing  look,  his  immobile 
lips  giving  muffled  passage  to  that  eternal  "Yes!  Yes!  Yes!" 
And  at  last  they  decided  they  were  mistaken,  that  it  was  no 
particular  thing  he  wanted,  but  only  the  natural  fierce  desire 

90 


JILTED 


to  break  through  those  prison  walls,  invisible,  translucent,  in 
tangible,  worse  than  death. 

Sorrow  and  anxiety  and  care  pressed  so  heavily  and  so 
unceasingly  upon  that  household  for  several  weeks  that  there 
was  no  time  for,  no  thought  of,  anything  but  Hiram.  Finally, 
however,  the  law  of  routine  mercifully  reasserted  itself;  their 
lives,  in  habit  and  in  thought,  readjusted,  conformed  to  the 
new  conditions,  as  human  lives  will,  however  chaotic  has  been 
the  havoc  that  demolished  the  old  routine.  Then  Adelaide 
took  from  her  writing  desk  Ross's  letters,  which  she  had 
glanced  at  rather  than  read  as  they  came;  when  she  finished 
the  rereading,  or  reading,  she  was  not  only  as  unsatisfied  as 
when  she  began,  but  puzzled,  to  boot — and  puzzled  that  she 
was  puzzled.  She  read  them  again — it  did  not  take  long,  for 
they  were  brief;  even  the  first  letter  after  he  heard  of  her 
father's  illness  filled  only  the  four  sides  of  one  sheet,  and  was 
written  large  and  loose.  "  He  has  sent  short  letters,"  said 
she,  "  because  he  did  not  want  to  trouble  me  with  long  ones 
at  this  time."  But,  though  this  excuse  was  as  plausible  as 
most  of  those  we  invent  to  assist  us  to  believe  what  we  want 
to  believe,  it  did  not  quite  banish  a  certain  hollow,  hungry 
feeling,  a  sense  of  distaste  for  such  food  as  the  letters  did  pro 
vide.  She  was  not  experienced  enough  to  know  that  the  ex 
pression  of  the  countenance  of  a  letter  is  telltale  beyond  the 
expression  of  the  countenance  of  its  writer;  that  the  face  may 
be  controlled  to  lie,  but  never  yet  were  satisfying  and  fully  de 
ceptive  lies  told  upon  paper.  Without  being  conscious  of  the 
action  of  the  sly,  subconscious  instinct  which  prompted  it,  she 
began  to  revolve  her  friend,  Theresa  Howland,  whose  house 
party  Ross  was  honoring  with  such  an  extraordinarily  long 
lingering.  "  I  hope  Theresa  is  seeing  that  he  has  a  good  time," 
she  said.  "  I  suppose  he  thinks  as  he  says — that  he'd  only  be 
in  the  way  here.  That's  a  man's  view!  It's  selfish,  but  who 
isn't  selfish?" 

Thus,  without  her  being  in  the  least  aware  of  the  process, 
her  mind  was  preparing  her  for  what  was  about  to  happen. 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

It  is  a  poor  mind,  or  poorly  served  by  its  subconscious  half, 
that  is  taken  wholly  by  surprise  by  any  blow.  There  are 
always  forewarnings ;  and  while  the  surface  mind  habitually 
refuses  to  note  them,  though  they  be  clear  as  sunset  silhouettes, 
the  subconscious  mind  is  not  so  stupid — so  blind  under  the 
sweet  spells  of  that  arch-enchanter,  vanity. 

At  last  Ross  came,  but  without  sending  Adelaide  word. 
His  telegram  to  his  mother  gave  just  time  for  a  trap  to  meet 
him  at  the  station.  As  he  was  ascending  the  broad,  stone  ap 
proaches  of  the  main  entrance  to  the  house  at  Point  Helen, 
she  appeared  in  the  doorway,  her  face  really  beautiful  with 
mother-pride.  For  Janet  she  cared  as  it  is  the  duty  of  parent 
to  care  for  child;  Ross  she  loved.  It  was  not  mere  maternal 
imagination  that  made  her  so  proud  of  him;  he  was  a  dis 
tinguished  and  attractive  figure  of  the  kind  that  dominates  the 
crowds  at  football  games,  polo  and  tennis  matches,  summer 
resort  dances,  and  all  those  events  which  gather  together  the 
youth  of  our  prosperous  classes.  Of  the  medium  height,  with 
a  strong  look  about  the  shoulders,  with  sufficiently,  though 
not  aggressively,  positive  features  and  a  clear  skin,  with  gray- 
green  eyes,  good  teeth,  and  a  pleasing  expression,  he  had  an 
excellent  natural  basis  on  which  to  build  himself  into  a  par 
ticularly  engaging  and  plausible  type  of  fashionable  gentleman. 
He  was  in  traveling  tweeds  of  pronounced  plaid  which,  how 
ever,  he  carried  off  without  vulgarity.  His  trousers  were 
rolled  high,  after  the  fashion  of  the  day,  to  show  dark  red 
socks  of  the  same  color  as  his  tie  and  of  a  shade  harmonious 
tto  the  stripe  in  the  pattern  of  shirt  and  suit  and  to  the  stones 
(in  his  cuff  links.  He  looked  clean,  with  the  cleanness  of  a 
tree  after  the  measureless  drenching  of  a  storm ;  he  had  a  care 
less,  easy  air,  which  completely  concealed  his  assiduous  and 
self-complacent  self-consciousness.  He  embraced  his  mother 
with  enthusiasm. 

"  How  well  you  look !  "  he  exclaimed ;  then,  with  a  glance 
round,  "  How  well  everything  looks !  " 

His  mother  held  tightly  to  his  arm  as  they  went  into 
the  house;  she  seemed  elder  sister  rather  than  mother,  and 

92 


JILTED 


he  delighted  her  by  telling  her  so — omitting  the  qualifying 
adjective  before  the  sister.  "  But  you're  not  a  bit  glad  to 
see  me,"  he  went  on.  "  I  believe  you  don't  want  me  to 
come." 

"I'm  just  a  little  cross  with  you  for  not  answering  my 
letters,"  replied  she. 

''How  is  Del?"  he  asked,  and  for  an  instant  he  looked 
embarrassed  and  curiously  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  Adelaide  is  very  well,"  was  her  reply  in  a  constrained 
voice. 

"  I  couldn't  stay  away  any  longer,"  said  he.  "  It  was  tire 
some  up  at  Windrift." 

He  saw  her  disappointment,  and  a  smile  flitted  over  his 
face  which  returned  and  remained  when  she  said :  "  I  thought 
you  were  finding  Theresa  Howland  interesting." 

"  Oh,  you  did?  "  was  his  smiling  reply.     "  And  why?  " 

"  Then  you  have  come  because  you  were  bored  ?  "  she  said, 
evading. 

"  And  to  see  you  and  Adelaide.  I  must  telephone  her  right 
away." 

It  seemed  to  be  secretly  amusing  him  to  note  how  down 
cast  she  was  by  this  enthusiasm  for  Adelaide.  "  I  shouldn't 
be  too  eager,"  counseled  she.  "  A  man  ought  never  to  show 
eagerness  with  a  woman.  Let  the  women  make  the  ad 
vances,  Ross.  They'll  do  it  fast  enough — when  they  find  that 
they  must." 

"  Not  the  young  ones,"  said  Ross.  "  Especially  not  those 
that  have  choice  of  many  men." 

"  But  no  woman  has  choice  of  many  men,"  replied  she. 
"  She  wants  the  best,  and  when  you  re  in  her  horizon,  you're 
the  best,  always." 

Ross,  being  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  family,  gave  himself 
the  pleasure  of  showing  that  he  rather  thought  so  himself. 
But  he  said:  "  Nonsense.  If  I  listened  to  your  partiality,  I'd 
be  making  a  fearful  ass  of  myself  most  of  the  time." 

"  Well — don't  let  Adelaide  see  that  you're  eager,"  persisted 
his  mother  subtly.  "  She's  very  good-looking  and  knows  it 

93 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

and  I'm  afraid  she's  getting  an  exaggerated  notion  of  her  own 
value.  She  feels  so  certain  of  you." 

"  Of  course  she  does,"  said  Ross,  and  his  mother  saw  that 
he  was  unmoved  by  her  adroit  thrust  at  his  vanity. 

"  It  isn't  in  human  nature  to  value  what  one  feels  sure  of." 

"  But  she  is  sure  of  me,"  said  Ross,  and  while  he  spoke 
with  emphasis,  neither  his  tone  nor  his  look  was  quite  sincere. 
"  We're  engaged,  you  know." 

"  A  boy  and  girl  affair.    But  nothing  really  settled." 

"  I've  given  my  word  and  so  has  she." 

Mrs.  Whitney  had  difficulty  in  not  looking  as  disapproving 
as  she  felt.  A  high  sense  of  honor  had  been  part  of  her  wordy 
training  of  her  children;  but  she  had  relied — she  hoped,  not 
in  vain — upon  their  common  sense  to  teach  them  to  reconcile 
and  adjust  honor  to  the  exigencies  of  practical  life.  "  That's 
right,  dear,"  said  she.  "  A  man  cr  a  woman  can't  be  too  hon 
orable.  Still,  I  should  not  wish  you  to  make  her  and  yourself 
unhappy.  And  I  know  both  of  you  would  be  unhappy  if,  by 
marrying,  you  were  to  spoil  each  other's  careers.  And  your 
father  would  not  be  able  to  allow  or  to  leave  you  enough  to 
maintain  an  establishment  such  as  I've  set  my  heart  on  seeing 
you  have.  Mr.  Ranger  has  been  acting  very  strange  of  late 
— almost  insane,  I'd  say."  Her  tone  became  constrained  as  if 
she  were  trying  to  convey  more  than  she  dared  put  into  words. 
"  I  feel  even  surer  than  when  I  wrote  you,  that  he's  leaving 
a  large  part  of  his  fortune  to  Tecumseh  College."  And  she 
related — with  judicious  omissions  and  embroideries — her  last 
talk  with  Hiram,  and  the  events  that  centered  about  it. 

Ross  retained  the  impassive  expression  he  had  been  culti 
vating  ever  since  he  read  in  English  "  high  life  "  novels  de 
scriptions  of  the  bearing  of  men  of  the  "  haut  monde" 
"  That's  of  no  consequence,"  was  his  comment,  in  a  tone  of 
indifference.  "  I'm  not  marrying  Del  for  her  money." 

"  Don't  throw  yourself  away,  Ross,"  said  she,  much  dis 
quieted.  "  I  feel  sure  you've  been  brought  up  too  sensibly  to 
do  anything  reckless.  At  least,  be  careful  how  you  commit 
yourself  until  you  are  sure.  In  our  station  people  have  to 

94 


JILTED 


think  of  a  great  many  things  before  they  think  of  anything  so 
uncertain  and  so  more  or  less  fanciful  as  love.  Rest  assured, 
Adelaide  is  thinking  of  those  things.  Don't  be  less  wise 
than  she." 

He  changed  the  subject,  and  would  not  go  back  to  it;  and 
after  a  few  minutes  he  telephoned  Adelaide,  ordered  a  cart, 
and  set  out  to  take  her  for  a  drive.  Mrs.  Whitney  watched 
him  depart  with  a  heavy  heart  and  so  piteous  a  face  that  Ross 
was  moved  almost  to  the  point  of  confiding  in  her  what  he 
was  pretending  not  to  admit  to  himself.  "  Ross  is  sensible 
beyond  his  years,"  she  said  to  herself  sadly,  "  but  youth  is  so 
romantic.  It  never  can  see  beyond  the  marriage  ceremony." 

Adelaide,  with  as  much  haste  as  was  compatible  with  the 
demands  of  so  important  an  occasion,  was  getting  into  a  suit 
able  costume.  Suddenly  she  laid  aside  the  hat  she  had  selected 
from  among  several  that  were  what  the  Fifth  Avenue  mil 
liners  call  the  "dernier  cri"  "No,  I'll  not  go!"  she 
exclaimed. 

Ever  since  her  father  was  stricken  she  had  stayed  near  him. 
Ellen  had  his  comfort  and  the  household  to  look  after,  and 
besides  was  not  good  at  initiating  conversation  and  carrying  it 
on  alone;  Arthur's  tongue  was  paralyzed  in  his  father's  pres 
ence  by  his  being  unable  for  an  instant  to  forget  there  what 
had  occurred  between  them.  So  Del  had  borne  practically  the 
whole  burden  of  filling  the  dreary,  dragging  hours  for  him 
— who  could  not  speak,  could  not  even  show  whether  he  under 
stood  or  not.  He  had  never  been  easy  to  talk  to;  now,  when 
she  could  not  tell  but  that  what  she  said  jarred  upon  a  sick, 
and  inflamed  soul,  aggravating  his  torture  by  reminding  him 
of  things  he  longed  to  know  yet  could  not  inquire  about,  tan 
talizing  him  with  suggestions —  She  dared  not  let  her  thoughts 
go  far  in  that  direction ;  it  would  soon  have  been  impossible  to 
send  him  any  message  beyond  despairing  looks. 

Sometimes  she  kissed  him.  She  knew  he  was  separated 
from  her  as  by  a  heavy,  grated  prison  door,  and  was  unable 
to  feel  the  electric  thrill  of  touch ;  yet  she  thought  he  must  get 

95 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

some  joy  out  of  the  sight  of  the  dumb  show  of  caress.  Again, 
she  would  give  up  trying  to  look  cheerful,  and  would  weep — 
and  let  him  see  her  weep,  having  an  instinct  that  he  under 
stood  what  a  relief  tears  were  to  her,  and  that  she  let  him  see 
them  to  make  him  feel  her  loving  sympathy.  Again,  she  would 
be  so  wrought  upon  by  the  steady  agony  of  those  fixed  eyes 
that  she  would  leave  him  abruptly  to  hide  herself  and  shudder, 
tearless,  at  the  utter  misery  and  hopelessness  of  it  all.  She 
wondered  at  her  mother's  calm  until  she  noticed,  after  a 
few  weeks,  how  the  face  was  withering  with  that  shriveling 
which  comes  from  within  when  a  living  thing  is  dying  at 
the  core. 

She  read  the  Bible  to  him,  selecting  consolatory  passages 
with  the  aid  of  a  concordance,  in  the  evenings  after  he  had 
been  lifted  into  bed  for  the  night.  She  was  filled  with  pro 
test  as  she  read;  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  this  good  man,  her 
best  of  fathers,  thus  savagely  and  causelessly  stricken,  was 
proof  before  her  eyes  that  the  sentences  executed  against  men 
were  not  divine,  but  the  devilish  emanations  of  brute  chance. 
"  There  may  be  a  devil,"  she  said  to  herself,  frightened  at  her 
own  blasphemy,  "  but  there  certainly  is  no  God."  Again,  the 
Bible's  promises,  so  confident,  so  lofty,  so  marvelously  respon 
sive  to  the  longings  and  cravings  of  every  kind  of  desolation 
and  woe,  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  her;  and  they  helped  to 
put  her  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  find  for  conversation — or, 
rather,  for  her  monologues  to  him — subjects  which  her  instinct 
told  her  would  be  welcome  visitors  in  that  prison. 

She  talked  to  him  of  how  he  was  loved,  of  how  noble  his 
influence  had  been  in  their  lives.  She  analyzed  him  to  himself, 
saying  things  she  would  never  have  dared  say  had  there  been 
the  slightest  chance  of  so  much  response  as  the  flutter  of  an 
eyelid.  And  as,  so  it  seemed  to  her,  the  sympathetic  relations 
and  understanding  between  them  grew,  she  became  franker, 
talked  of  her  aspirations — new-born  aspirations  in  harmony 
with  his  life  and  belief.  And,  explaining  herself  for  his  bene 
fit  and  bringing  to  light  her  inmost  being  to  show  to  him,  she 
saw  it  herself.  And  when  she  one  day  said  to  him,  "Your 

96 


JILTED 


illness  has  made  a  better  woman  of  me,  father,  dear  father," 
she  felt  it  with  all  her  heart. 

It  was  from  this  atmosphere,  and  enveloped  in  it,  that  she 
went  out  to  greet  Ross;  and,  as  she  went,  she  was  surprised  at 
her  own  calmness  before  the  prospect  of  seeing  him  again, 
after  six  months'  separation — the  longest  in  their  lives. 

His  expression  was  scrupulously  correct — joy  at  seeing  her 
shadowed  by  sympathy  for  her  calamity.  When  they  were 
safely  alone,  he  took  her  hand  and  was  about  to  kiss  her.  Her 
beauty  \vas  of  the  kind  that  is  different  from,  and  beyond, 
memory's  best  photograph.  She  never  looked  exactly  the 
same  twice;  that  morning  she  seemed  to  him  far  more  tempting 
than  he  had  been  thinking,  with  his  head  for  so  many  weeks 
full  of  worldly  ideas.  He  was  thrilled  anew,  and  his  resolve 
hesitated  before  the  fine  pallor  of  her  face,  the  slim  lines  of 
her  figure,  and  the  glimpses  of  her  smooth  white  skin  through 
the  openwork  in  the  yoke  and  sleeves  of  her  blouse.  But,  in 
stead  of  responding  she  drew  back,  just  a  little.  He  instantly 
suspected  her  of  being  in  the  state  of  mind  into  which  he  had 
been  trying  to  get  himself.  He  dropped  her  hand.  A  trifling 
incident,  but  a  trifle  is  enough  to  cut  the  communications  be 
tween  two  human  beings;  it  often  accomplishes  what  the 
rudest  shocks  would  not.  They  went  to  the  far,  secluded  end 
of  the  garden,  he  asking  and  she  answering  questions  about 
her  father. 

"What  is  it,  Del?"  he  said  abruptly,  at  length.  "You 
act  strained  toward  me."  He  did  not  say  this  until  she  had 
been  oppressed  almost  into  silence  by  the  height  and  the  thick 
ness  of  the  barrier  between  them. 

"  I  guess  it's  because  I've  been  shut  in  with  father,"  she 
suggested.  "  I've  seen  no  one  to  talk  to,  except  the  family  and 
the  doctor,  for  weeks."  And  she  tried  to  fix  her  mind  on  how 
handsome  and  attractive  he  was.  As  a  rebuke  to  her  heart's 
obstinate  lukewarmness  she  forced  herself  to  lay  her  hand 
in  his. 

He  held  it  loosely.  Her  making  this  slight  overture  was 

97 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

enough  to  restore  his  sense  of  superiority;  his  resolve  grew  less 
unsteady.  "  It's  the  first  time,"  he  went  on,  "  that  we've  really 
had  the  chance  to  judge  how  we  actually  feel  toward  each 
other — that's  what's  the  matter."  His  face — he  was  not  look 
ing  at  her — took  on  an  expression  of  sad  reproach.  "  Del,  I 
don't  believe  you — care.  You've  found  it  out,  and  don't 
want  to  hurt  my  feelings  by  telling  me."  And  he  believed 
what  he  was  saying.  It  might  have  been — well,  not  quite 
right,  for  him  to  chill  toward  her  and  contemplate  breaking 
the  engagement,  but  that  she  should  have  been  doing  the 
same  thing — his  vanity  was  erect  to  the  last  feather.  "  It's 
most  kind  of  you  to  think  so  considerately  of  me,"  he  said 
satirically. 

She  took  her  hand  away.  "  And  you?  "  she  replied  coldly. 
"  Are  your  feelings  changed?  " 

"  I — oh,  you  know  I  love  you,"  was  his  answer  in  a  delib 
erately  careless  tone. 

She  laughed  with  an  attempt  at  raillery.  "  You've  been  too 
long  up  at  Windrift — you've  been  seeing  too  much  of  Theresa 
Rowland,"  said  she,  merely  for  something  to  say;  for  Theresa 
was  neither  clever  nor  pretty,  and  Del  hadn't  it  in  her  to 
suspect  him  of  being  mercenary. 

He  looked  coldly  at  her.  "  I  have  never  interfered  with 
your  many  attentions  from  other  men,"  said  he  stiffly.  "  On 
the  contrary,  I  have  encouraged  you  to  enjoy  yourself,  and  I 
thought  you  left  me  free  in  the  same  way." 

The  tears  came  to  her  eyes;  and  he  saw,  and  proceeded  to 
value  still  less  highly  that  which  was  obviously  so  securely  his. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter  with  you,  Ross,  this  morning?" 
she  cried.  "  Or  is  it  I?  Am  I " 

"  It  certainly  is  not  I,"  he  interrupted  icily.  "  I  see  you 
again  after  six  months,  and  I  find  you  changed  completely." 

A  glance  from  her  stopped  him.  "Oh!"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  dangerous  smile.  "  You  are  out  of  humor  this  morn 
ing  and  are  seeking  a  quarrel." 

"  That  would  be  impossible,"  he  retorted.  "  /  never  quar 
rel.  Evidently  you  have  forgotten  all  about  me." 

98 


I   don't  bother  much  about  people  I   don't   see. 


JILTED 

Her  pride  would  not  let  her  refuse  the  challenge,  convert 
in  his  words,  frank  in  his  eyes. 

"  Possibly,"  mocked  she,  forcing  herself  to  look  amusedly 
at  him.  "  I  don't  bother  much  about  people  I  don't  see." 

"  You  take  a  light  view  of  our  engagement,"  was  his 
'instant  move. 

"  I  should  take  a  still  lighter  view,"  retorted  she,  "  if  I 
thought  the  way  you're  acting  was  a  fair  specimen  of  your 
real  self." 

This  from  Adelaide,  who  had  always  theretofore  shared  in 
his  almost  reverent  respect  for  himself.  Adelaide  judging 
him,  criticising  him  I  All  Ross's  male  instinct  for  unquestion 
ing  approval  from  the  female  was  astir.  "  You  wish  to  break 
our  engagement?"  he  inquired,  with  a  glance  of  cold  anger 
that  stiffened  her  pride  and  suppressed  her  impulse  to  try  to 
gain  time. 

"  You're  free,"  said  she,  and  her  manner  so  piqued  him, 
that  to  nerve  himself  to  persist  he  had  to  think  hard  on  the 
magnificence  of  Windrift  and  the  many  Rowland  millions 
and  the  rumored  Ranger  will.  She,  in  a  series  of  jerks  and 
pauses,  took  off  the  ring;  with  an  expression  and  a  gesture  that 
gave  no  further  hint  of  how  she  had  valued  it,  both  for  its 
own  beauty  and  for  what  it  represented,  she  handed  it  to  him. 
"  If  that's"  all,"  she  went  on,  "  I'll  go  back  to  father."  To 
perfect  her  pretense,  she  should  have  risen,  shaken  hands  cheer 
fully  with  him,  and  sent  him  carelessly  away.  She  knew  it; 
but  she  could  not. 

He  was  not  the  man  to  fail  to  note  that  she  made  nc 
move  to  rise,  or  to  fall  to  read  the  slightly  strained  expression 
in  her  eyes  and  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  That  be 
trayal  lost  Adelaide  a  triumph;  for,  seeing  her  again,  feeling 
her  beauty  and  her  charm  in  all  his  senses,  reminded  of  her 
superiority  in  brains  and  in  taste  to  the  women  from  whom  he 
might  choose,  he  was  making  a  losing  fight  for  the  worldly 
wise  course.  "  Anyhow,  I  must  tame  her  a  bit,"  he  reflected, 
now  that  he  was  sure  she  would  be  his,  should  he  find  on  fur 
ther  consideration  that  he  wanted  her  rather  than  Theresa's 

99 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

fortune.  He  accordingly  took  his  hat,  drew  himself  up,  bowed 
coldly. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said.  And  he  was  off,  down  the  drive 
— to  the  lower  end  where  the  stableboy  was  guarding  his  trap 
— he  was  seated — he  was  driving  away — he  was  gone — gone! 

She  did  not  move  until  he  was  no  longer  in  sight.  Then 
she  rushed  into  the  house,  darted  up  to  her  room,  locked  her 
self  in  and  gave  way.  It  was  the  first  serious  quarrel  she  had 
ever  had  with  him ;  it  was  so  little  like  a  quarrel,  so  ominously 
like  a — No;  absurd!  It  could  not  be  a  finality.  She  rejected 
that  instantly,  so  confident  had  beauty  and  position  as  a 
prospective  heiress  made  her  as  to  her  powers  over  any  man 
she  chose  to  try  to  fascinate,  so  secure  was  she  in  the  belief 
that  Ross  loved  her  and  would  not  give  her  up  in  any  cir 
cumstances.  She  went  over  their  interview,  recalled  his  every 
sentence  and  look — this  with  surprising  coolness  for  a  young 
woman  as  deeply  in  love  as  she  fancied  herself.  And  her 
anger  rose  against  him — a  curious  kind  of  anger,  to  spring  and 
flourish  in  a  loving  heart.  "  He  has  been  flattered  by  Theresa 
until  he  has  entirely  lost  his  point  of  view,"  she  decided.  "  I'll 
give  him  a  lesson  when  he  comes  trying  to  make  it  up." 

He  drove  the  part  of  his  homeward  way  that  was  through 
streets  with  his  wonted  attention  to  "  smartness."  True  "  man 
of  the  world,  "  he  never  for  many  consecutive  minutes  had 
himself  out  of  his  mind — how  he  was  conducting  himself,  what 
people  thought  of  him,  what  impression  he  had  made  or  was 
making  or  was  about  to  make.  He  estimated  everybody  and 
everything  instinctively  and  solely  from  the  standpoint  of  ad 
vantage  to  himself.  Such  people,  if  they  have  the  intelligence 
to  hide  themselves  under  a  pleasing  surface,  and  the  wisdom 
to  plan,  and  the  energy  to  execute,  always  get  just  about  what 
they  want;  for  intelligence  and  energy  are  invincible  weapons, 
whether  the  end  be  worthy  or  not.  As  soon,  however,  as  he 
was  in  the  road  up  to  the  Bluffs,  deserted  at  that  hour,  his 
body  relaxed,  his  arms  and  hands  dropped  from  the  correct 
angk  for  driving,  the  reins  lay  loose  upon  the  horse's  back, 

IOO 


JILTED 

and  he  gave  himself  to  dejection.  He  had  thought — at  Win- 
drift — that,  once  he  was  free  from  the  engagement  which  was 
no  longer  to  his  interest,  he  would  feel  buoyant,  elated.  In 
stead,  he  was  mentally  even  more  downcast  a  figure  than  his 
relaxed  attitude  and  gloomy  face  made  him  physically.  His 
mother's  and  his  "  set's "  training  had  trimmed  generous  in 
stincts  close  to  the  roots,  and,  also,  such  ideals  as  were  not 
purely  for  material  matters,  especially  for  ostentation.  But, 
being  still  a  young  man,  those  roots  not  only  were  alive,  but 
also  had  an  under-the-soil  vigor;  they  even  occasionally  sent 
to  the  surface  sprouts — that  withered  in  the  uncongenial  air 
of  his  surroundings  and  came  to  nothing.  Just  now  these 
sprouts  were  springing  in  the  form  of  self-reproaches.  Remem 
bering  with  what  thoughts  he  had  gone  to  Adelaide,  he  felt 
wholly  responsible  for  the  broken  engagement,  felt  that  he  had 
done  a  contemptible  thing,  had  done  it  in  a  contemptible  way; 
and  he  was  almost  despising  himself,  looking  about  the  while 
for  self-excuses.  The  longer  he  looked  the  worse  off  he  was; 
for  the  more  clearly  he  saw  that  he  was  what  he  called,  and 
thought,  in  love  with  this  fresh  young  beauty,  so  swiftly  and 
alluringly  developing.  It  exasperated  him  with  the  intensity 
of  selfishness's  avarice  that  he  could  not  have  both  Theresa 
Howland's  fortune  and  Adelaide.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  a  right  to  both.  Not  in  the  coldly  selfish  only  is  the  fact 
of  desire  in  itself  the  basis  of  right.  By  the  time  he  reached 
home,  he  was  angry  through  and  through,  and  bent  upon  find 
ing  some  one  to  be  angry  with.  He  threw  the  reins  to  a 
groom  and,  savagely  sullen  of  face,  went  slowly  up  the  terrace- 
like  steps. 

His  mother,  on  the  watch  for  his  return,  came  to  meet 
him.  "  How  is  Mr.  Ranger  this  morning?  "  she  asked. 

"  Just  the  same,"  he  answered  curdy. 

"And— Del?" 

No  answer. 

They  went  into  the  library;  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  seated 
himself  at  the  writing  table.  She  watched  him  anxiously  but 
had  far  too  keen  insight  to  speak  and  give  him  the  excuse  to 

101 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

explode.  Not  until  she  turned  to  leave  the  room  did  he  break 
his  surly  silence  to  say:  "  I  might  as  well  tell  you.  I'm  en 
gaged  to  Theresa  Howland." 

"O  Ross,  I'm '.TO  glad!"  she  exclaimed,  lighting  up  with 
pride  and  pleasure.  Then,  warned  by  his  expression,  she  re 
strained  herself.  "  I  have  felt  certain  for  a  long  time  that  you 
would  not  throw  yourself  away  on  Adelaide.  She  is  a  nice 
girl — pretty,  sweet,  and  all  that.  But  women  differ  from  each 
other  only  in  unimportant  details.  A  man  ought  to  see  to  it 
that  by  marrying  he  strengthens  his  influence  and  position  in 
the  world  and  provides  for  the  standing  of  his  children.  And 
I  think  Theresa  has  far  more  steadiness;  and,  besides,  she  has 
been  about  the  world — she  was  presented  at  court  last  spring 
a  year  ago,  wasn't  she?  She  is  such  a  lady.  It  will  be  so 
satisfactory  to  have  her  as  the  head  of  your  establishment — 
probably  Mr.  Howland  will  give  her  Windrift.  And  her 
cousin — that  Mr.  Fanning  she  married — is  connected  with  all 
the  best  families  in  Boston,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia. 
They  are  at  the  top  of  our  aristocracy." 

This  recital  was  not  to  inform,  but  to  inspire — to  remind 
him  what  a  wise  and  brilliant  move  he  had  made  in  the  game 
of  life.  And  it  had  precisely  the  effect  she  intended.  Had 
she  not  herself  created  and  fostered  in  him  the  nature  that 
would  welcome  such  stuff  as  a  bat  welcomes  night? 

"  I'm  going  back  to  Windrift  to-morrow,"  he  said,  still 
sulLn,  but  with  the  note  of  the  quarrel-seeker  gone  from  his 
voice. 

"  When  do  you  wish  me  to  write  to  her?  " 

"  Whenever  you  like,"  he  said.  The  defiance  in  his  tone 
was  for  Adelaide.  "  The  engagement  is  to  be  announced  as 
soon  as  I  get  back." 

Mrs.  Whitney  was  called  away,  and  Ross  tried  to  write 
to  Theresa.  But  the  words  wouldn't  come.  He  wandered 
restlessly  about  the  room,  ordered  the  electric,  went  to  the 
Country  Club.  After  an  hour  of  bitterness,  he  called  up  his 
mother.  "  You  needn't  send  that  note  we  were  talking  about 
just  yet,"  he  said. 

102 


JILTED 

"  But  I've  already  sent  it,"  his  mother  answered.  In  fact. 
the  note  was  just  then  lying  on  the  table  at  her  elbow. 

"What  were  you  in  such  a  devil  of  a  hurry  for?"  he 
stormed — an  unnecessary  question,  for  he  knew  his  mother  was 
the  sort  of  person  that  loses  no  time  in  settling  an  important 
matter  beyond  possibility  of  change. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Ross,"  she  replied  soothingly.  "  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  send  it,  as  you  had  told  me  everything  was 
settled." 

"  Oh  —  all  right  —  no  matter."  He  could  break  with 
Theresa  whenever  he  wished.  Perhaps  he  would  not  wish  to 
break  with  her;  perhaps,  after  a  few  days  he  would  find  that 
his  feeling  for  Adelaide  was  in  reality  no  stronger  than  he  had 
thought  it  at  Windrift,  when  Theresa  was  tempting  him  with 
her  huge  fortune.  There  was  plenty  of  time  before  it  would 
be  necessary  to  make  final  choice. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  leave  Saint  X,  but  hung  round, 
sour  and  morose,  hoping  for  some  sign  from  "  tamed " 
Adelaide. 

As  soon  as  Theresa  got  Mrs.  Whitney's  note,  she  wrote 
to  Adelaide.  "  I've  promised  not  to  tell,"  her  letter  began, 
"  but  I  never  count  any  promise  of  that  kind  as  including  you, 
dear,  sweet  Adelaide " 

Adelaide  smiled  as  she  read  this;  Theresa's  passion  for 
intimate  confession  had  been  the  joke  of  the  school.  "  BesidtV 
Adelaide  read  on,  "  I  think  you'll  be  especially  interested  as 
Ross  tells  me  there  was  some  sort  of  a  boy-and-girl  flirtation 
between  you  and  him.  I  don't  see  how  you  could  get  over 
it.  Now — you've  guessed.  Yes — we're  engaged,  and  will 
probably  be  married  up  here  in  the  fall — Windrift  is  simply 
divine  then,  you  know.  And  I  want  you  to  be  my  *  best  man.' 
The  others'll  be  Edna  and  Clarice  and  Leila  and  Annette  and 
perhaps  Jessie  and  Anita.  We're  to  live  in  Chicago — father 
will  give  us  a  house,  I'm  sure.  And  you  must  come  to 
visit  us " 

It  is  hardly  fair  to  eavesdrop  upon  a  young  woman  in  such 

103 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

an  hour  as  this  of  Adelaide's.  Only  those  might  do  so  who 
are  willing  freely  to  concede  to  others  that  same  right  to  be 
human  which  they  themselves  exercise,  whether  they  will  or 
no,  when  things  happen  that  smash  the  veneer  of  "  gentleman  " 
or  "  lady  "  like  an  eggshell  under  a  plowboy's  heel,  and  pene 
trate  to  and  roil  that  unlovely  human  nature  which  is  in  us 
all.  Criticism  is  supercilious,  even  when  it  is  just;  so,  without 
criticism,  the  fact  is  recorded  that  Adelaide  paced  the  floor  and 
literally  raved  in  her  fury  at  this  double-distilled,  double 
treachery.  The  sense  that  she  had  lost  the  man  she  believed 
she  loved  was  drowned  in  the  oceanic  flood  of  infuriated  van 
ity.  She  raged  now  against  Ross  and  now  against  Theresa 
"  She's  marrying  him  just  because  she's  full  of  envy,  and  can't 
bear  to  see  anybody  else  have  anything,"  she  fumed.  "  Theresa 
couldn't  love  anybody  but  herself.  And  he — he's  marrying 
her  for  her  money.  She  isn't  good  to  look  at;  to  be  in  the 
house  with  her  is  to  find  out  how  mean  and  small  and  vain 
she  is.  It  serves  me  right  for  being  snob  enough  to  have  such 
a  friend.  If  she  hadn't  been  immensely  rich  and  surrounded 
by  such  beautiful  things  I'd  never  have  had  anything  to  do 
with  her.  She's  buying  him;  he's  selling  himself.  How 
vile!" 

But  the  reasons  why  they  were  betraying  her  did  not  change 
or  mitigate  the  fact  of  betrayal;  and  that  fact  showed  itself 
to  proud,  confident  Adelaide  Ranger  in  the  form  of  the  prop 
osition  that  she  had  been  jilted,  and  that  all  the  world,  all  her 
world,  would  soon  know  it.  Jilted!  She — Adelaide  Ranger 
— the  all-conqueror — flung  aside,  flouted,  jilted.  She  went 
back  to  that  last  word;  it  seemed  to  concentrate  all  the  insult 
and  treason  and  shame  that  were  heaped  upon  her.  And  she 
never  once  thought  of  the  wound  to  her  heart;  the  fierce  fire 
of  vanity  seemed  to  have  cauterized  it — if  there  was  a  wound. 

What  could  she  do  to  hide  her  disgrace  from  her  mocking, 
sneering  friends?  For,  hide  it  she  must — must — must  I  And 
she  had  not  a  moment  to  lose. 

A  little  thought,  and  she  went  to  the  telephone  and  called 
up  her  brother  at  the  Country  Club.  When  she  heard  his 

104 


JILTED 


voice,  in  fear  and  fright,  demanding  what  she  wanted,  she 
said: 

"  Will  you  bring  Dory  Hargrave  to  dinner  to-night?  And, 
of  course,  don't  let  him  know  I  wanted  you  to." 

"  Is  that  all !  "  exclaimed  Arthur  in  a  tone  of  enormous 
relief,  which  she  was  too  absorbed  in  her  calamity  to  be 
conscious  of. 

"You  will,  won't  you?  Really,  Arthur,  it's  very  im 
portant;  and  don't  say  a  word  of  my  having  telephoned — not 
to  anybody" 

"All  right!  I'll  bring  him."  A  pause,  then.  "Father's 
just  the  same?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  in  sudden  confusion  and  shame. 


8 


105 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A    FRIEND  IN    NEED 

N  the  turmoil  of  his  own  affairs  Arthur  forgot 
his  promise  almost  while  he  was  making  it. 
Fortunately,  as  he  was  driving  home,  the  sight 
of  Dr.  Hargrave,  marching  absent-mindedly 
along  near  the  post  office,  brought  it  to  his 
mind  again.  With  an  impatient  exclamation 
— for  he  prided  himself  upon  fidelity  to  his  given  word,  in 
small  matters  as  well  as  in  larger — he  turned  the  horse  about. 
He  liked  Dory  Hargrave,  and  in  a  way  admired  him;  Dory 
was  easily  expert  at  many  of  the  sports  at  which  Arthur  had 
had  to  toil  before  he  was  able  to  make  even  a  passable  showing. 
But  Dory,  somehow,  made  him  uncomfortable.  They  had  no 
point  of  view  in  common;  Dory  regarded  as  incidental  and 
trivial  the  things  which  seemed  of  the  highest  importance  to 
Arthur.  Dory  had  his  way  to  make  in  the  world;  Arthur 
had  been  spared  that  discomfort  and  disadvantage.  Yet  Dory 
persisted  in  pretending  to  regard  Arthur  as  in  precisely  the 
same  position  as  himself;  once  he  had  even  carried  the  pretense 
to  the  impertinence  of  affecting  to  sympathize  with  Arthur 
for  being  so  sorely  handicapped.  On  that  occasion  Arthur  had 
great  difficulty  in  restraining  plain  speech.  He  would  not 
have  been  thus  tactful  and  gentlemanly  had  he  not  realized 
that  Dory  meant  the  best  in  the  world,  and  was  wholly  un 
conscious  that  envy  was  his  real  reason  for  taking  on  such  a 
preposterous  pose.  "  Poor  chap !  "  Arthur  had  reflected. 
"  One  shouldn't  blame  him  for  snatching  at  any  consolation, 
however  flimsy."  In  those  days  Arthur  often,  in  generous 
mood,  admitted — to  himself — that  fortune  had  been  shamefully 

106 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED 


partial  in  elevating  him,  without  any  effort  on  his  part,  but 
merely  by  the  accident  of  birth,  far  above  the  overwhelming 
majority  of  young  men.  He  felt  doubly  generous — in  having 
such  broad  views  and  in  not  aggravating  the  misfortunes  of 
the  less  lucky  by  expressing  them. 

Dr.  Hargrave  and  his  son — his  only  child — and  his  dead 
wife's  sister,  Martha  Skeffington,  lived  in  a  quaint  old  bricli 
house  in  University  Avenue.  A  double  row  of  ancient  elms 
shaded  the  long  walk  straight  up  from  the  gate.  On  the  front 
door  was  a  huge  bronze  knocker  which  Arthur  lifted  and 
dropped  several  times  without  getting  response.  "  Probably 
the  girl's  in  the  kitchen;  and  old  Miss  Skeffington  is  so  deaf 
she  couldn't  hear,"  he  thought.  He  had  known  the  persons 
and  the  habits  of  that  household  from  earliest  boyhood.  He 
followed  the  path  round  the  house  and  thus  came  in  sight  of 
a  small  outbuilding  at  the  far  corner  of  the  yard,  on  the  edge 
of  the  bank  overlooking  and  almost  overhanging  the  river — 
Dory's  "  workshop."  Its  door  was  open  and  Arthur  could 
see  the  whole  of  the  interior.  Dory  and  a  young  woman  were 
standing  by  a  bench  at  the  window,  W7ere  bending  over  some 
thing  in  which  they  seemed  to  be  absorbed.  Not  until  Arthur 
stepped  upon  the  doorsill  did  they  lift  their  heads. 

"Hello,  Artie!"  cried  Dory,  coming  forward  with  ex 
tended  hand. 

Arthur  was  taking  off  his  hat  and  bowing  to  the  young 
woman.  "  Hello,  Theo,"  said  he.  "  How  d'ye  do,  Estelle?  " 

Miss  Wilmot  shook  hands  with  him,  a  shade  constrainedly. 
'*  How  are  you,  Arthur?  "  she  said. 

It  was  in  his  mouth  to  ask  why  she  hadn't  been  to  see 
Adelaide.  He  checked  himself  just  in  time.  She  and  Adelaide 
were  great  friends  as  youngsters  at  the  public  school,  but  the 
friendship  cooled  into  acquaintance  as  Adelaide  developed  fash 
ionable  ideas  and  tastes.  Also,  Estelle  had  been  almost  a  re 
cluse  since  she  was  seventeen.  The  rest  of  the  Wilmots  went 
into  Saint  X's  newly  developed  but  flourishing  fashionable 
society.  They  had  no  money  to  give  return  entertainments  or 
even  to  pay  their  share  of  the  joint  dances  and  card  parties 

107 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

and  picnics ;  they  looked  rather  queer,  too,  because  their  clothes 
were  not  merely  old  but  ancient — no  great  matter,  however, 
as  they  undoubtedly  had  most  charming  manners  and  a  subtle 
pride  that  made  everyone  have  a  sense  of  being  honored  when 
they  came.  But  Estelle,  as  soon  as  she  was  old  enough  to 
understand  social  relations,  flatly  refused  to  take  where  she 
could  never  give  any  but  the  debatable  return  of  the  honor  of 
her  company.  She  made  no  display  of  her  different  notion  of 
pride;  she  simply  held  aloof;  and,  without  her  intending  it; 
Saint  X  understood. 

"What's  that  youVe  got  there?"  said  Arthur,  with  a 
glance  at  the  objects  on  the  transformed  carpenter's  bench. 

"  Dory  and  I  wrere  looking  at  some  flowers  through  a 
microscope,"  explained  Estelle. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Arthur,  "  I  took  a  course  in  that  last  year. 
I  liked  it  for  a  while;  but  it  soon  got  to  be  a  good  deal  of 
a  bore." 

He  thought  he  saw  a  fleeting  flash  of  a  smile  in  Estelle's 
handsome  eyes.  As  she  had  wavy  golden  hair  and  regular, 
"  patrician  "  features  and  a  notable  figure,  he  reddened  a  little. 
"  I  had  to  do  it,  you  see,"  he  explained.  "  And  anything  one 
has  to  do  becomes  a  bore."  To  himself  he  was  saying :  "  These 
two  prigs !  She's  pretending  to  be  interested  because  she  wants 
to  make  him  think  she's  clever  and  *  serious/  And  probably 
he  does  it  to  show  off,  too."  He  was  not  quite  so  certain  of 
Dory's  motive  as  of  hers,  because  Dory  had  deliberately  aban 
doned  sports,  which  were  far  more  showy  than  science  and 
in  which  he  brilliantly  excelled,  for  things  that  impress  only 
people  not  worth  impressing — people  who  couldn't  advance 
one  socially  in  any  way.  But  that  Estelle  was  "  faking  "  he 
hadn't  the  slightest  doubt;  one  of  his  earliest  discoveries  in 
the  exploration  of  the  feminine  mystery  had  been  the  American 
feminine  passion  for  the  "  serious  "  pose,  and  much  amusement 
he  had  got  in  verifying  his  theory  that  women  never  did  any 
thing  before  men  except  for  effect. 

Dory  had  been  looking  intently  at  him,  and  now  smiled. 
It  gave  Arthur  an  uncomfortable  sense  that  his  thoughts  had 

108 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED 


been  read,  and  that  Dory  was  affecting  to  find  his  conclusions 
amusing.  This  suspicion  became  certainty  when  Dory  said : 
"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  us,  Artie.  We  who  have  to  live  quiet 
lives  must  put  in  the  time  somehow.  And  something  can  be 
said  for  the  microscope.  To  me,  it's  what  spectacles  are  to  a 
nearsighted  man.  The  type  soon  gets  small  in  the  story  of  the 
world  about  us.  We  take  the  microscope  and  are  able  to 
read  on." 

"  I'm  satisfied  with  the  part  that's  in  big  type/'  replied 
Arthur;  and,  with  the  masculine  instinct,  he  looked  at  Estelle 
for  approval. 

But  she  had  apparently  not  heard  what  either  was  saying. 
"  The  light's  beginning  to  fade,"  she  said  to  Dory.  "  I'll  see 
you  to-morrow."  And,  all  but  ignoring  Arthur,  she  departed, 
both  men  watching  her  as  she  went  along  the  grass  toward 
the  front  gate.  Dory  was  first  to  turn  away. 

"  What  a  beauty  she  has  grown  up  into !  "  said  Arthur. 

"Hasn't  she,  though!"  assented  Dory,  busy  putting  away 
the  microscope  and  the  slides. 

"  I  beg  j'our  pardon  for  having  interrupted,"  pursued 
Arthur. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Dory  carelessly.  "  I  happened  to 
see  her  walking  in  her  garden,  with  nothing  to  do,  and  I  asked 
her  over." 

"  What's  become  of  her  brother,  Arden?  " 

"  Still  drinking,  and  not  so  good-natured  as  he  used  to  be. 
It's  beginning  to  tell  on  him.  He's  getting  a  surly  streak. 
That's  the  way  it  invariably  is  with  those  weak  fellows  who 
become  drunkards." 

"  It's  sad  to  see  a  fine  old  family  like  theirs  on  the  down 
grade,"  said  Arthur. 

Dory  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  No  sadder  than  to  see  any 
body  else  running  to  seed.  We're  all  old  families,  you  know, 
and  very  superior  ones.  When  you  think  of  all  that  the  human 
race  has  been  through,  you  realize  that  every  one  that  has 
survived  must  be  very  superior — the  less  sheltered,  the  more 
superior." 

109 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Arthur  decided  to  sheer  off.  "  I  came  to  ask  you  to  the 
house  for  sup — dinner  to-night,"  said  he.  "  It's  lonely — just 
mother  and  Del  and  me.  Come  and  cheer  us  up.  Come  along 
with  me  now." 

Dory  looked  confused.  "  I'm  afraid  I  can't,"  he  all  but 
stammered. 

j  "  Of  course,  I  can't  blame  you  for  not  caring  about  com 
ing."  This  a  politeness,  for  Arthur  regarded  his  invitation  as 
an  honor. 

"  Oh,  you  didn't  understand  me,"  protested  Dory.  "  I  was 
thinking  of  something  entirely  different."  A  pause  during 
which  he  seemed  to  be  reflecting.  "  I'll  be  glad  to  come,"  he 
finally  said. 

r<  You  needn't  bother  to  dress,"  continued  Arthur. 

Dory  laughed — a  frank,  hearty  laugh  that  showed  the 
perfect  white  teeth  in  his  wide,  humorous-looking  mouth. 
"Dress!"  said  he.  "  My  other  suit  is,  if  anything,  less  pre 
sentable  than  this;  and  they're  all  I've  got,  except  the  frock — 
and  I'm  miserable  in  that." 

Arthur  felt  like  apologizing  for  having  thus  unwittingly 
brought  out  young  Hargrave's  poverty.  "  You  look  all  right," 
said  he. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Dory  dryly,  his  eyes  laughing  at  Arthur. 

And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  though  Arthur  had  not  been  sin 
cere,  Dory  did  look  "  all  right."  It  would  have  been  hard 
for  any  drapery  not  to  have  set  well  on  that  strong,  lithe 
figure.  And  his  face — especially  the  eyes — was  so  compelling 
that  he  would  have  had  to  be  most  elaborately  overdressed  to 
distract  attention  from  what  he  was  to  what  he  wore. 

On  the  way  to  the  Rangers,  he  let  Arthur  do  the  talking; 
and  if  Arthur  had  been  noticing  he  would  have  realized  that 
Dory  was  not  listening,  but  was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts. 
Also  Arthur  would  have  noticed  that,  as  they  came  round  from 
the  stables  to  the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  front  veranda,  and 
as  Dory  caught  sight  of  Adelaide,  half-reclining  in  the  ham 
mock  and  playing  with  Simeon,  his  eyes  looked  as  if  he  had 
been  suddenly  brought  from  the  darkness  into  the  light, 

no 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED 

j -.-  --  _^_^_^^_^^_^^^_^_ 

"  Here's  Dory  Hargrave,  Del,"  cried  Arthur,  and  went 
on  into  the  house,  leaving  them  facing  each  other. 

"  So  glad  you've  come,"  said  Adelaide,  her  tone  and  manner 
at  their  friendliest. 

But  as  she  faced  his  penetrating  eyes,  her  composure  be 
came  less  assured.  He  looked  straight  at  her  until  her  eyes 
dropped — this  while  they  were  shaking  hands.  He  con 
tinued  to  look,  she  feeling  it  and  growing  more  and  more 
uncomfortable. 

"  Why  did  you  send  for  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  would  have  liked  to  deny  or  to  evade ;  but  neither  was 
possible.  Now  that  he  was  before  her  she  recalled  his  habit 
of  compelling  her  always  to  be  truthful  not  only  with  him 
but — what  was  far  worse — also  with  herself.  "  Did  Arthur 
tell  you  I  asked  him  to  bring  you?  "  she  said,  to  gain  time. 

"  No,"  was  his  reply.  "  But,  as  soon  as  he  asked  me,  I 
knew." 

It  irritated  her  that  this  young  man  who  was  not  at  all  a 
"  man  of  the  world  "  should  be  able  so  easily  to  fathom  her. 
She  had  yet  to  learn  that  "  man  of  the  world  "  means  man  of 
a  very  small  and  insignificant  world,  while  Dory  Hargrave 
had  been  born  a  citizen  of  the  big  world,  the  real  world — one 
who  understands  human  beings,  because  his  sympathies  are 
broad  as  human  nature  itself,  and  his  eyes  clear  of  the  scales 
of  pretense.  He  was  an  illustration  of  the  shallowness  of  the 
talk  about  the  loneliness  of  great  souls.  It  is  the  great  souls 
that  alone  are  not  alone.  They  understand  better  than  the 
self-conscious,  posing  mass  of  mankind  the  weakness  and  the 
pettiness  of  human  nature;  but  they  also  appreciate  its  other 
side.  And  in  the  pettiest  creature,  they  still  see  the  greatness 
that  is  in  every  human  being,  in  every  living  thing  for  that 
matter,  its  majesty  of  mystery  and  of  potentiality — mystery 
of  its  living  mechanism,  potentiality  of  its  position  as  a  source 
of  ever-ascending  forms  of  life.  From  the  protoplasmal  cell 
descends  the  genius ;  from  the  loins  of  the  sodden  toiler  chained 
to  the  soil  springs  the  mother  of  genius  or  genius  itself.  And 
where  little  people  were  bored  and  isolated,  Dory  Hargrave 

in 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

could  without  effort  pass  the  barriers  to  any  human  heart, 
could  enter  in  and  sit  at  its  inmost  hearth,  a  welcome  guest. 
He  never  intruded ;  he  never  misunderstood ;  he  never  caused 
the  slightest  uneasiness  lest  he  should  go  away  to  sneer  or  to 
despise.  Even  old  John  Skeffington  was  confidential  with  him, 
and  would  have  been  friendly  had  not  Dory  avoided  him. 

Adelaide  soon  fell  under  the  spell  of  this  genius  of  his  for 
inspiring  confidence.  She  had  not  fully  disclosed  her  plans  to 
herself;  she  hesitated  at  letting  herself  see  what  her  fury 
against  Theresa  and  Ross  had  goaded  her  on  to  resolve.  So 
she  had  no  difficulty  in  persuading  herself  that  she  had  prob 
ably  sent  for  Dory  chiefly  to  consult  with  him.  "  There's 
something  I  want  to  talk  over  with  you,"  said  she ;  "  but  wait 
till  after  din — supper.  Have  you  and  Artie  been  playing 
tennis  ?  " 

"  No,  he  found  me  at  home.  Estelle  Wilmot  and  I  were 
playing  with  a  microscope." 

"  Estelle — she  has  treated  me  shamefully/'  said  Adelaide, 
"  I  haven't  seen  her  for  more  than  a  year — except  just  a  glimpse 
as  I  was  driving  down  Monroe  Street  one  day.  How  beauti 
ful  she  has  become!  But,  then,  she  always  was  pretty.  And 
neither  her  father  nor  her  mother,  nor  any  of  the  rest  of  the 
family  is  especially  good-looking.  She  doesn't  in  the  least 
resemble  them." 

"  There  probably  was  a  time  when  her  father  and  mother 
really  loved,"  said  Dory.  "  I've  often  thought  that  when 
one  sees  a  beautiful  man  or  woman,  one  is  seeing  the  monu 
ment  to  some  moment  of  supreme,  perfect  happiness.  There 
:are  hours  when  even  the  meanest  creatures  see  the  islands  of 
enchantment  floating  in  the  opal  sea." 

Adelaide  was  gazing  dreamily  into  the  sunset.  It  was 
some  time  before  she  came  back,  dropped  from  the  impersonal 
to  the  personal,  which  is  the  normal  attitude  of  most  young 
people  and  of  all  the  self-absorbed.  Simeon,  who  had  been 
inspecting  Dory  from  the  far  upper  end  of  the  hammock,  now 
descended  to  the  floor  of  the  veranda,  and  slowly  advanced 
toward  him.  Dory  put  out  his  hand.  "  How  are  you, 

112 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED 


cousin  ? "  he  said,  gravely  shaking  Simeon's  extended  paw. 
Simeon  chattered  delightedly  and  sprang  into  Dory's  lap  to 
nestle  comfortably  there. 

"  I  always  thought  you  would  fall  in  love  with  Estelle, 
some  day,"  Adelaide  was  saying. 

Dory  looked  at  Simeon  with  an  ironical  smile.  "  Why 
does  she  say  those  things  to  me?"  he  asked.  Simeon  looked 
at  Adelaide  with  a  puzzled  frown  that  said,  "  Why,  indeed  ?  " 

"  You  and  Estelle  are  exactly  suited  to  each  other,"  ex 
plained  she. 

"  Exactly  unsuited,"  replied  he.  "  I  have  nothing  that  she 
needs;  she  has  nothing  that  I  need.  And  love  is  an  exchange 
of  needs.  Now,  I  have  hurt  your  vanity." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  "  demanded  Adelaide. 

"  You'd  like  to  feel  that  your  lover  came  to  you  empty- 
handed,  asking  everything,  humbly  protesting  that  he  had  noth 
ing  to  give.  And  you  know  that  I — "  He  smiled  soberly. 
"  Sometimes  I  think  you  have  really  nothing  I  need  or  want, 
that  I  care  for  you  because  you  so  much  need  what  I  can  give. 
You  poor  pauper,  with  the  delusion  that  you  are  rich !  " 

"  You  are  frank,"  said  she,  smiling,  but  not  liking  it. 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  be?  I've  given  up  hope  of  your 
ever  seeing  the  situation  as  it  is.  I've  nothing  to  lose  with 
you.  Besides,  I  shouldn't  want  you  on  any  false  terms.  One 
has  only  to  glance  about  him  to  shrink  from  the  horrors  of  mar 
riage  based  on  delusions  and  lies.  So,  I  can  afford  to  be  frank." 

She  gave  him  a  puzzled  look.  She  had  known  him  all 
her  life;  they  had  played  together  almost  every  day  until  she 
was  seventeen  and  went  East,  to  school,  with  Janet  Whitney. 
It  was  while  she  was  at  home  on  her  first  long  vacation  that 
she  had  flirted  with  him,  had  trapped  him  into  an  avowal  of 
love;  and  then,  having  made  sure  of  the  truth  which  her 
vanity  of  conquest  and  the  fascination  of  his  free  and  frank 
manliness  for  her,  though  she  denied  it  to  herself,  had  led  her 
on  to  discover  beyond  doubt,  she  became  conscience-stricken. 
And  she  confessed  to  him  that  she  loved  Ross  Whitney  and 
was  engaged  to  him ;  and  he  had  taken  the  disclosure  so  calmly 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

that  she  almost  thought  he,  like  herself,  had  been  simply  flirt 
ing.  And  yet —  She  dimly  understood  his  creed  of  making 
the  best  of  the  inevitable,  and  of  the  ridiculousness  of  taking 
oneself  too  seriously.  "  He  probably  has  his  own  peculiar  way 
of  caring  for  a  woman,"  she  was  now  reflecting,  "  just  as  he 
has  his  own  peculiar  way  in  every  other  respect." 

Arthur  came,  and  their  mother;  and  not  until  long  after 
supper,  when  her  father  had  been  got  to  bed,  did  she  have  the 
chance  to  continue  the  conversation.  As  soon  as  she  appeared 
on  the  veranda,  where  Dory  and  Arthur  were  smoking,  Arthur 
sauntered  away.  She  was  alone  with  Dory;  but  she  felt  that 
she  had  nothing  to  say  to  him.  The  surge  of  fury  against 
Ross  and  Theresa  had  subsided;  also,  now  that  she  had  seen 
Theodore  Hargrave  again,  she  realized  that  he  was  not  the 
sort  of  man  one  tries  to  use  for  the  purpose  she  had  on  impulse 
formed,  nor  she  the  sort  of  woman  who,  in  the  deliberateness 
of  the  second  thought,  carries  into  effect  an  impulse  to  such 
a  purpose. 

When  they  had  sat  there  in  the  moonlight  several  minutes 
in  silence,  she  said:  "I  find  I  haven't  anything  especial  to  say 
to  you,  after  all." 

A  wait,  then  from  him :  "  I'm  sorry.  I  had  hoped — "  He 
halted. 

"Hoped— what?" 

"  Hoped  it  was  off  with  you  and  Whitney." 

"  Has  some  one  been  saying  it  was  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

"  No.     I  thought  I  felt  it  when  I  first  saw  you." 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  enormously  relieved.  A  pause,  then  con 
strainedly,  "  Your  guess  was  right." 

"  And  was  that  why  you  sent  for  me  ?  " 

The  assent  of  silence. 

"You  thought  perhaps  you  might — <:are  for — me?" 

It  seemed  almost  true,  with  him  looking  so  earnestly  and 
hopefully  at  her,  and  in  the  moonlight — moonlight  that  can 
soften  even  falsehood  until  true  and  false  seem  gently  to  merge. 
She  hesitated  to  say  No.  "  I  don't  know  just  what  I  thought," 
she  replied. 

114 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED 


But  her  tone  jarred  on  the  young  man  whose  nerves  were 
as  sensitive  as  a  thermostat.  "  You  mean,  when  you  saw  me 
again,  you  felt  you  really  didn't  care,"  he  said,  drawing  back 
so  that  she  could  not  see  his  face. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  earnestly  and  honestly.  "  Not  that." 
And  then  she  flung  out  the  truth.  "  Ross  has  engaged  him 
self  to  Theresa  Rowland,  a  girl  with  a  huge  big  fortune. 
And  I— I " 

"  You  needn't  say  it,"  he  interrupted,  feeling  how  it  was 
distressing  her  to  confess.  "  I  understand." 

"  I  wasn't  altogether — wicked,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  didn't 
think  of  you  wholly  because  I  thought  you  cared  for  me.  I 
thought  of  you  chiefly  because  I  feel  more  at  home  with  you 
than  with  anyone  else.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  you 
see  me  exactly  as  I  am,  with  all  the  pretenses  and  meannesses 
— yet  not  unkindly,  either.  And,  while  you've  made  me  angry 
sometimes,  when  you  have  refused  to  be  taken  in  by  my  best 
tricks,  still  it  was  as  one  gets  angry  with — with  oneself.  It 
simply  wouldn't  last.  And,  as  you  see,  I  tell  you  anything 
and  everything." 

"  You  thought  you'd  engage  yourself  to  me — and  see  how 
it  worked  out?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  did." 

A  pause.  She  knew  what  he  wras  going  to  say  next,  and 
waited  for  him  to  say  it.  At  last  it  came.  "  Well,  now  that 
there's  no  deception,  why  shouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Somehow,  I  don't  seem  to  mind — about  Ross,  so  much. 
It — it  was  while  I  was  in  with  father  this  evening.  You 
haven't  seen  him  since  he  became  so  ill,  but  you  will  under 
stand  why  he  is  a  rebuke  to  all  mean  thoughts.  I  suppose  I'll 
be  squirming  again  to-morrow,  but  to-night  I  feel " 

"  That  Ross  has  done  you  a  great  service.  That  you've 
lost  nofhing  but  a  dangerous  illusion ;  that  you  have  been  hon 
orable  with  him,  and  all  the  wrong  and  the  shame  are  upon 
him.  You  must  feel  it,  for  it  is  true." 

Adelaide  sighed.  "  I  wish  I  were  strong  enough  to  feel  it 
with  my  friends  jeering  at  me,  as  I  can  feel  it  now,  Dory." 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

He  moved  nearer  the  hammock  in  which  she  was  sitting. 
"  Del,"  he  said,  "  shall  we  become  engaged,  with  the  condition 
that  we'll  not  marry  unless  we  both  wish  to,  when  the  time 
comes  ?  " 

"  But  you're  doing  this  only  to  help  me — to  help  me  in 
a  weakness  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"  Not  altogether,"  he  replied.  "  You  on  your  part  give 
me  a  chance  to  win  you.  You  will  look  at  me  differently — 
and  there's  a  great  deal  in  that,  a  very  great  deal,  Del." 

She  smiled — laughed.     "  I  see  what  you  mean." 

But  he  looked  gravely  at  her.  "  You  promise  to  do  your 
best  to  care?  An  engagement  is  a  very  solemn  thing,  Del. 
You  promise  ?  " 

She  put  out  her  hand.  "  Yes,"  she  answered.  And,  after 
a,  moment,  in  tones  he  would  have  known  meant  opportunity 
had  he  been  less  in  love  with  her,  less  modest  about  his  own 
powers  where  she  was  concerned,  she  went  on :  "  The  night 
you  told  me  you  loved  me  I  did  not  sleep.  What  you  said — 
what  I  saw  when  you  opened  your  heart  to  me — oh,  Dory, 
I  believed  then,  and  I  believe  now,  that  the  reason  I  have  not 
loved  you  is  because  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  And  I'm  afraid 
I  never  can — for  just  that  reason." 

He  laughed  and  kissed  her  hand.  "  If  that's  all  that 
stands  in  the  way,"  said  he,  "  you'll  love  me  to  distraction." 

Her  spirits  went  soaring  as  she  realized  that  she  had 
gained  honorably  all  she  had  been  tempted  to  gain  by  artifice. 
"  But  you  said  a  while  ago,"  she  reminded  him  mischievously, 
"  that  you  didn't  need  me." 

"  So  I  did,"  said  he,  "  but  the  fox  shouldn't  be  taken  too 
literally  as  he  talks  about  the  grapes  that  are  out  of  reach." 

Suddenly  she  was  longing  for  him  to  take  her  in  his  arms 
and  compel  her  to  feel,  and  to  yield  to,  his  strength  and  his 
love.  But  he,  realizing  that  he  was  in  danger  of  losing  his 
self-control,  released  her  hand  and  drew  away — to  burn  aloof, 
when  he  might  have  set  her  on  fire. 

Ross  Whitney  found  his  cousin,  Ernest  Belden,  in  the  Chi- 

U6 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED 


cago  express  next  morning.  When  they  were  well  on  their 
way,  Belden  said:  "I'm  really  sorry  it's  all  off  between  you 
and  Adelaide,  Ross." 

Ross  was  silent,  struggling  against  curiosity.  Finally 
curiosity  won.  "  How  did  you  know,  Ernest?"  he  asked. 

"  On  the  way  to  the  station  I  met  Dory  Hargrave  look 
ing  like  a  sunrise.  I  asked  him  what  was  up — you  know,  he 
and  I  are  like  brothers.  And  he  said :  '  I've  induced  Adelaide 
Ranger  to  promise  to  marry  me.'  '  Why,  I  never  knew  you 
cared  about  her  in  that  way,'  said  I.  And  he  said :  '  There's 
lots  of  things  in  this  world  you  don't  know,  Ernest,  a  lot  of 
important  things,  and  this  is  one  of  'em.  I've  never  cared  about 
anybody  else.'  " 

Belden  had  been  thinking  that  the  engagement  between 
Ross  and  Adelaide  was  dissolved  by  mutual  consent.  A  glance 
at  Ross  and  he  changed  his  mind ;  for,  Ross  was  so  amazed 
at  Adelaide's  thus  challenging  him — it  could  be  nothing  more 
than  an  audacious  challenge — that  he  showed  it.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  old  man/'  Belden  said  impulsively.  "  I  didn't  appre 
ciate  that  I  was  making  a  prying  brute  of  myself." 

Ross  decided  that  a  "  gentleman  "  would  be  silent  under 
the  suspicion  of  having  been  jilted,  and  that  therefore  he  must 
be  silent — on  that  subject.  "  Not  at  all,"  said  he.  "  I  suppose 
you  haven't  heard  yet  that  I'm  engaged  to  Miss  Rowland, 
of  Chicago." 

"  Ah —     Really —     I  congratulate  you,"  said  Belden. 

And  Ross,  seeing  that  his  cousin  understood  precisely  wThat 
he  had  intended  he  should,  felt  meaner  than  ever. 


117 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    LONG   FAREWELL 

OT  until  Adelaide  told  Arthur  and  saw  the  ex 
pression  that  succeeded  his  first  blank  stare  of 
incredulity  did  she  realize  what  the  world, 
her  "  world,"  would  think  of  her  engagement 
to  Theodore  Hargrave.  It  was  illuminative  of 
her  real  character  and  of  her  real  mind  as  to 
Ross,  and  as  to  Dory  also,  that,  instead  of  being  crushed  by 
her  brother's  look  of  downright  horror,  she  straightway  ejected 
the  snobbish  suggestions  with  which  her  vanity  had  been  taunt 
ing  her,  and  called  her  heart,  as  well  as  her  pride,  to  the 
defense  of  Dory. 

"  You're  joking,"  said  Arthur,  when  he  was  able  to  articu 
late;  "and  a  mighty  poor  joke  it  is.  Dory!  Why,  Del,  it's 
ridiculous.  And  in  place  of  Ross  Whitney!  " 

"  Be  careful  what  you  say,  Artie,"  she  warned  in  a  quiet, 
ominous  tone,  with  that  in  her  eyes  which  should  in  prudence 
have  halted  him.  "  I  am  engaged  to  Dory,  remember." 

"  Nonsense !  "  cried  Arthur.  "  Why,  he  hasn't  a  cent,  ex 
cept  his  beggarly  salary  as  professor  at  that  little  jay  college. 
And  even  if  he  should  amount  to  something  some  day,  he'll! 
never  have  anything  or  any  standing  in  society.  I  thought  you 
had  pride,  Del.  Just  wait  till  I  see  him!  I'll  let  him  know 
what  I  think  of  his  impudence.  Of  course,  I  don't  blame  him. 
Naturally,  he  wants  to  get  up  in  the  world.  But  you — " 
Arthur's  laugh  was  a  sneer —  "  And  I  thought  you  were 
proud  I" 

From  Del's  eyes  blazed  that  fury  which  we  reserve  for 
those  we  love  when  they  exasperate  us.  "  Shame  on  you,  Ar- 

118 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL 


thur  Ranger!"  she  exclaimed.  "  Shame  on  you!  See  what 
a  snob  you  have  become.  Except  that  he's  poor,  Dory  Har- 
grave  has  the  advantage  of  any  man  we  know.  He's  got  more 
in  his  head  any  minute  than  you  or  your  kind  in  your  whole 
lives.  And  he  is  honorable  and  a  gentleman — a  real  gentle 
man,  not  a  pretender.  You  aren't  big  enough  to  understand 
him;  but,  at  least,  you  know  that  if  it  weren't  for  your  pros 
pects  from  father,  you  wouldn't  be  in  the  same  class  with  him. 
He  is  somebod)'  in  himself.  But  you — and — and  your  kind 
— what  do  you  amount  to,  in  yourselves?  '' 

Arthur  lowered  at  her.  "  So  this  is  what  you've  been 
leading  up  to,  with  all  the  queer  talk  you've  been  giving  me 
on  and  off,  ever  since  we  came  home." 

That  remark  seemed  to  Adelaide  for  an  instant  to  throw 
a  flood  of  light  in  amazing  revelation  upon  her  own  innermost 
self.  "  I  believe  it  is!  "  she  exclaimed,  as  if  dazed.  Then  the 
light  seemed  to  go,  seemed  to  have  been  only  imaginary.  It 
is  not  until  we  are  much  older  than  Del  then  was,  that  WTC  learn 
how  our  acts  often  reveal  us  to  ourselves. 

"  So  you're  in  love  with  Dory,"  scoffed  Arthur.  "  You're 
a  wonder — you  are!  To  go  about  the  world  and  get  edu 
cation  and  manners  and  culture,  and  then  to  come  back  to 
Saint  X  and  take  up  with  a  jay — a  fellowr  that's  never  been 
anywhere." 

"  Physically,  he  hasn't  traveled  much,"  said  Del,  her  tem 
per  curiously  and  suddenly  restored.  "  But  mentally,  Artie, 
dear,  he's  been  distances  and  to  places  and  in  society  that  your 
poor  brain  would  ache  just  at  hearing  about." 

"  You've  lost  your  senses !  " 

"No,  dear,"  replied  Del  sweetly;  "on  the  contrary,  I've 
put  myself  in  the  way  of  finding  them." 

"  You  needn't  '  bluff '  with  me,"  he  retorted.  He  eyed 
her  suspiciously.  "  There's  some  mystery  in  this." 

Del  showed  that  the  chance  shot  had  landed ;  but,  instantly 
recovering  herself,  she  said :  "  It  may  interest  you  to  know 
that  a  wrhile  ago,  when  I  told  you  I  wras  engaged  to  him,  I 
felt  a  little  uneasy.  You  see,  I've  had  a  long  course  at  the 

119 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

same  school  that  has  made  such  a  gentleman  of  you.  But,  as 
the  result  of  your  talk  and  the  thoughts  it  suggested,  I  haven't 
a  doubt  left.  I'd  marry  Dory  Hargrave  now,  if  everybody  in 
the  world  opposed  me.  Yes,  the  more  opposition,  the  prouder 
I'll  be  to  be  his  wife!" 

"What's  the  matter,  children?"  came  in  their  mo'.her's 
voice.  "What  are  you  quarreling  about?"  Mrs.  Ranger  was 
hurrying  through  the  room  on  her  way  to  the  kitchen ;  she 
was  too  used  to  heated  discussions  between  them  to  be 
disturbed. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this,  mother?"  almost  shouted 
Arthur.  "Del  here  says  she's  engaged  to  Dory  Hargrave!" 

Mrs.  Ranger  stopped  short.     "Gracious!"  she  ejaculated. 

She  felt  for  her  "  specs,"  drew  them  down  from  her  hair, 
and  hastily  adjusted  them  for  a  good  look,  first  at  Arthur, 
then  at  Del.  She  looked  long  at  Del,  who  was  proudly  erect 
and  was  at  her  most  beautiful  best,  eyes  glittering  and  cheeks 
aglow.  "Have  you  and  Ross  had  a  falling  ouli  Del?"  she 
asked. 

"No,  mother,"  replied  Adelaide;  "but  we — we've  broken 
our  engagement,  and —  What  Artie  says  is  true." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  full  minute,  though  the  air  seemed  to 
buzz  with  the  thinking  and  feeling.  Then,  Mrs.  Ranger: 
"  Your  father  mustn't  hear  of  this." 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  mother,  Artie,"  commanded 
Adelaide. 

Arthur  went,  pausing  in  the  doorway  to  say:  "I'm  sorry 
to  have  hurt  you,  Del.  But  I  meant  every  word,  only  not 
in  anger  or  meanness.  I  know  you  won't  do  it  when  you've 
thought  it  over." 

When  Arthur  had  had  time  to  get  far  enough  away,  Ade 
laide  said :  "  Mother,  I  want  you  to  hear  the  whole  truth — 
or  as  much  of  it  as  I  know  myself.  Ross  came  and  broke  off 
our  engagement  so  that  he  could  marry  Theresa  Howland. 
And  I've  engaged  myself  to  Dory — partly  to  cover  it,  but  not 
altogether,  I  hope.  Not  principally,  I  believe.  I'm  sick  and 
ashamed  of  the  kind  of  things  I've  been  so  crazy  about  these 

1 20 


THE   LONG   FAREWELL 


last  few  years.  Before  this  happened,  before  Ross  came,  being 
with  father  and  thinking  over  everything  had  made  me  see 
with  different  eyes.  And  I — I  want  to  try  to  be — what  a 
woman  ought  to  be." 

Ellen  Ranger  slowly  rolled  her  front  hair  under  her  ringers. 
At  length  she  said :  "  Well — I  ain't  sorry  you've  broke  off 
with  Ross.  I've  been  noticing  the  Whitneys  and  their  goings 
on  for  some  time.  I  saw  they'd  got  clean  out  of  my  class,  and 
— I'm  glad  my  daughter  hasn't.  There's  a  common  streak  in 
those  Whitneys.  I  never  did  like  Ross,  though  I  never  would 
have  said  anything,  as  you  seemed  to  want  him,  and  your 
father  had  always  been  set  on  it,  and  thought  so  high  of  him. 
He  laid  himself  out  to  make  your  pa  think  he  was  a  fine  char 
acter  and  full  of  business — and  I  ain't  denying  that  he's  smart, 
mighty  smart — too  smart  to  suit  me."  A  long  reflective  pause, 
then :  "  But — Dory —  Well,  my  advice  is  to  think  it  over 
before  you  jump  clear  in.  Of  course,  you'll  have  enough  for 
both,  but  I'd  rather  see  you  taking  up  with  some  man  that's 
got  a  good  business.  Teachin'  's  worse  than  preachin'  as  a 
business.  Still,  there's  plenty  of  time  to  think  about  that. 
You're  only  engaged." 

"  Teachin'  's  worse  than  preachin'  " —  Adelaide's  new, 
or,  rather,  revived  democracy  was  an  aspiration  rather  than 
an  actuality,  was — as  to  the  part  above  the  soil,  at  least — a 
not  very  vigorous  looking  forced  growth  through  sordid  neces 
sity.  In  this  respect  it  was  like  many,  perhaps  most,  human 
aspirations — and,  like  them,  it  was  far  more  likely  to  wither 
than  to  flourish.  "  Teachin'  Js  worse  than  preachin'  " —  Del 
began  to  slip  dismally  down  from  the  height  to  which  Ar 
thur's  tactless  outburst  had  blown  her.  Down,  and  down, 
and  down,  like  a  punctured  balloon — gently,  but  steadily,  dis- 
hearteningly.  She  was  ashamed  of  herself,  as  ashamed  as  any 
reader  of  these  chronicles  is  for  her — any  reader  with  one 
standard  for  judging  other  people  and  another  for  judging 
himself.  To  the  credit  of  her  character  must  be  set  down  her 
shame  at  her  snobbishness.  The  snobbishness  itself  should  not 
be  set  down  to  her  discredit,  but  should  be  charged  up  to  that 
9  121 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

class  feeling,  as  old  as  property,  and  fostered  and  developed  by 
almost  every  familiar  fact  in  our  daily  environment. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  but  your  father'd  be  glad,  if  he 
knew,"  her  mother  was  saying.  "  But  it's  no  use  to  risk 
telling  him.  A  shock  might — might  make  him  worse."  She 
started  up.  "  I  must  go  to  him.  I  came  to  send  you,  while 
I  was  looking  after  Mary  and  the  dinner,  and  I  clean  forgot." 

She  hurried  away.  Adelaide  sat  thinking,  more  and  more 
forlorn,  though  not  a  whit  less  determined.  "  I  ought  to  ad 
mire  him  more  than  I  did  Ross,  and  I  ought  to  want  to  marry 
him — and  I  willl  " 

The  birds  had  stopped  singing  in  the  noonday  heat.  The 
breeze  had  died  down.  Outdoors,  in  the  house,  there  was  not 
a  sound.  She  felt  as  if  she  must  not,  could  not  breathe.  The 
silence,  like  a  stealthy  hand,  lifted  her  from  her  chair,  drew 
her  tiptoeing  and  breathless  toward  the  room  in  which  her 
father  was  sitting.  She  paused  at  its  threshold,  looked.  There 
was  Hiram,  in  his  chair  by  the  window,  bolt  upright,  eyes 
open  and  gazing  into  the  infinite.  Beside  that  statue  of  the 
peace  eternal  knelt  Ellen,  a  worn,  wan,  shrunken  figure,  the 
hands  clasped,  the  eyes  closed,  the  lips  moving. 

"  Mother !     Mother !  "  cried  Del. 

Her  mother  did  not  hear.  She  was  moaning,  "  I  believe, 
Lord,  I  believe!  Help  Thou  my  unbelief!  " 


122 


CHAPTER   X 


N  the  day  after  the  funeral,  Mrs.  Ranger  and 
the  two  children  and  young  Hargrave  were  in 
the  back  parlor,  waiting  for  Judge  Torrey  to 
come  and  read  the  will.  The  well-meant  in 
trusions,  the  services,  the  burial — all  those  bar 
barous  customs  that  stretch  on  the  rack  those 
who  really  love  the  dead  whom  society  compels  them  publicly 
to  mourn — had  left  cruel  marks  on  Adelaide  and  on  Arthur; 
but  their  mother  seemed  unchanged.  She  was  talking  inces 
santly  now,  addressing  herself  to  Dory,  since  he  alone  was  able 
to  heed  her.  Her  talk  was  an  almost  incoherent  stream,  as  if 
she  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  she  was  saying  so  long  as 
she  could  keep  that  stream  going — the  stream  whose  sound 
at  least  made  the  voice  in  her  heart,  the  voice  of  desolation, 
less  clear  and  terrible,  though  not  less  insistent. 

There  was  the  beat  of  a  man's  footsteps  on  the  side  veranda. 
Mrs.  Ranger  started  up,  listened,  sat  again.  "  Oh,"  she  said, 
in  the  strangest  tone,  and  with  a  hysterical  little  laugh,  "  I 
thought  it  was  your  father  coming  home  to  dinner!"  Them 
from  her  throat  issued  a  stifled  cry  like  nothing  but  a  cry  borne 
up  to  the  surface  from  a  deep  torture-chamber.  And  she  was 
talking  on  again — with  Adelaide  sobbing  and  Arthur  fighting 
back  the  tears.  Hargrave  went  to  the  door  and  admitted  the 
old  lawyer. 

He  had  a  little  speech  which  he  always  made  on  such  occa 
sions;  but  to-day,  with  the  knowledge  of  the  astounding  con 
tents  of  that  will  on  his  mind,  his  lips  refused  to  utter  it.  He 
simply  bowed,  seated  himself,  and  opened  the  document.  The 

123 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

old-fashioned  legal  phrases  soon  were  steadying  him  as  the  har 
ness  steadies  an  uneasy  horse;  and  he  was  monotonously  and 
sonorously  rolling  off  paragraph  after  paragraph.  Except  the 
judge,  young  Hargrave  was  the  only  one  there  who  clearly  un 
derstood  what  those  wordy  provisions  meant.  As  the  reading 
progressed  Dory's  face  flushed  a  deep  red  which  slowly  faded, 
leaving  him  gray  and  haggard.  His  father's  beloved  project! 
His  father's!  To  carry  out  his  father's  project,  Arthur  and 
Adelaide,  the  woman  he  loved  and  her  brother,  were  to  lose 
their  inheritance.  He  could  not  lift  his  eyes.  He  felt  that 
they  were  all  looking  at  him,  were  hurling  reproaches  and 
denunciations. 

Presently  Judge  Torrey  read :  "  I  make  this  disposal  of  my 
estate  through  my  love  for  my  children  and  because  I  have 
firm  belief  in  the  soundness  of  their  character,  and  in  their 
capacity  to  do  and  to  be.  I  feel  they  will  be  better  off  without 
the  wealth  which  would  tempt  my  son  to  relax  his  efforts 
to  make  a  useful  man  of  himself  and  would  cause  my  daughter 
to  be  sought  for  her  fortune  instead  of  for  herself." 

At  the  words  "  without  the  wealth,"  Arthur  shifted  sharply 
in  his  chair,  and  both  he  and  Adelaide  looked  at  Judge  Tor 
rey  in  puzzled  wonder.  The  judge  read  on,  read  the  names 
of  signer  and  witnesses,  then  laid  the  will  down  and  stared 
gloomily  at  it.  Mrs.  Ranger  said:  "And  now,  judge,  can 
you  tell  us  in  plain  words  just  what  it  means?" 

With  many  a  pause  and  stammer  the  old  lawyer  made 
it  clear:  the  house  and  its  contents  and  appurtenances,  and 
seven  thousand  a  year  to  the  widow  for  life;  two  thousand  a 
year  to  Adelaide;  five  thousand  in  cash  to  Arthur  and  the 
chance  to  earn  the  mill  and  factory;  the  rest,  practically  the 
whole  estate,  to  Tecumseh  University. 

"Any  further  questions?"  he  asked,  breaking  the  silence 
that  followed  his  explanation. 

No  one  spoke. 

Still  without  looking  at  anyone,  he  put  away  his  glasses* 
"  Then  I  guess  I'll  be  going.  It  won't  be  necessary  to  do  any 
thing  further  for  a  day  or  two." 

124 


"  THROUGH    LOVE    FOR    MY    CHILDREN" 

And,  with  face  like  that  of  criminal  slinking  from  scene 
of  crime,  he  got  himself  to  the  door  by  a  series  of  embar 
rassed  bows  and  shuffling  steps.  Outside,  he  wiped  the 
streaming  sweat  from  his  forehead.  "It  wasn't  my  fault,"  he 
muttered,  as  if  some  one  were  accusing  him.  Then,  a  little 
further  from  the  house,  "  I  ain't  sure  Hiram  hasn't  done  right. 
But,  God  help  me,  I  couldn't  never  save  my  children  at  such 
a  price." 

He  was  clear  of  the  grounds  before  Adelaide,  the  first  to 
move,  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  her  brother.  Her  own  disaster 
was  swallowed  up  for  her  in  the  thought  of  how  he  had  been 
struck  down.  But  she  could  read  nothing  in  his  face.  He 
was  simply  gazing  straight  ahead,  and  looking  so  like  his 
father  at  his  most  unfathomable.  As  soon  as  he  had  fully 
realized  what  the  will  meant,  his  nerves  had  stopped  feeling 
and  his  brain  had  stopped  thinking.  Adelaide  next  noted  Dory, 
and  grew  cold  from  head  to  foot.  All  in  a  rush  it  came  over 
her  how  much  she  had  relied  upon  her  prospective  inheritance, 
how  little  upon  herself.  What  would  Dory  think  of  her  nowl 
And  Ross — what  a  triumph  for  him,  what  a  narrow  escape! 
Had  he  suspected?  Had  others  in  the  town  known  that  of 
which  they  of  the  family  were  in  complete  ignorance?  Oh, 
the  horror  of  the  descent — the  horror  of  the  rude  snatching 
away  of  the  golden  aureole !  "  Father,  father,  how  could  you 
do  it?  How  could  you  hurt  us  so?"  she  muttered.  Then, 
up  before  her  rose  his  face  with  that  frightful  look  in  the 
eyes.  "But  how  doing  it  made  him  suffer!"  she  thought. 
And  the  memory  of  those  hours  on  hours  she  had  spent  with 
him,  buried  alive,  flooded  over  her.  "Doing  it  killed  him!" 
she  said  to  herself. 

She  felt  cruel  fingers  grinding  into  her  arm.  With  a 
sharp  cry  she  sprang  up.  Her  brother  was  facing  her,  his  fea 
tures  ablaze  with  all  the  evil  passions  in  his  untrained  and 
unrestrained  nature.  "  You  knew!  "  he  hissed.  "You  traitor! 
You  knew  he  was  doing  this.  You  honeyfugled  him.  And  you 
and  Hargrave  get  it  all!" 

Adelaide  shrank  as  she  would  not  have  shrunk  under  a  lash. 

125 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"O  Arthur!  Arthur!"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  and 
stretching  them  toward  him. 

"You  admit  it,  do  you?"  he  shouted,  seizing  her  by  the 
shoulders  like  a  madman.  "  Yes,  your  guilty  face  admits  it. 
But  I'll  undo  your  work.  I'll  break  the  will.  Such  an  out 
rage  as  that,  such  a  robbery,  won't  stand  in  court  for  a 
minute." 

Dory  had  risen,  was  moving  to  fling  the  brother  from  the 
sister;  but  Mrs.  Ranger  was  before  him.  Starting  up  from  the 
stupor  into  which  Judge  Tprrey's  explanation  had  thrown  her, 
she  thrust  herself  between  her  children.  "Arthur!  "  she  said, 
and  her  voice  was  quiet  and  solemn.  "  Your  father  is  dead." 
She  drew  herself  up,  and  facing  her  son  in  her  widow's  black, 
seemed  taller  than  he.  "  If  I  had  needed  any  proof  that  he 
was  right  about  what  he  did  with  his  own,"  she  went  on,  "  I'd 
have  found  it  in  your  face  and  in  what  you  just  said  to  your 
sister.  Go  to  the  glass  there,  boy!  Look  at  your  face  and 
remember  your  words !  " 

Young  Hargrave  left  the  room,  went  to  the  garden  where 
they  could  see  him  from  the  windows  and  call  him  if  they 
wished.  Arthur  hung  his  head  before  his  mother's  gaze.  "  It 
isn't  his  will,"  he  muttered.  "  Father  in  his  right  mind  would 
never  have  made  such  a  will." 

"  He  never  would  have  made  such  a  will  if  his  children 
had  been  in  their  right  mind,"  replied  his  mother  sternly;  and 
sternness  they  had  never  before  seen  in  those  features  or  heard 
in  that  voice.  "  I  know  now  what  he  was  broodin'  over  for 
weeks.  Yes — "  and  her  voice,  which  rose  shrill,  was  the  shriek 
of  the  tempest  within  her — "  and  I  know  now  what  made  him 
break  so  sudden.  I  noticed  yfcu  both  driftin'  off  into  foolish 
ness,  ashamed  of  the  ways  of  your  parents,  ashamed  of  your 
parents,  too.  But  I  didn't  give  no  attention  to  it,  because  I 
thought  it  was  the  silliness  of  children  and  that  you'd  outgrow 
it.  But  he  always  did  have  a  good  head  on  him,  and  he  saw 
that  you  were  ridin'  loose-rein  to  ruin — to  be  like  them  Whit- 
neys.  Your  pa  not  in  his  right  mind  ?  I  see  God  in  that  will." 

She  paused,  but  only  for  breath  to  resume:  "And  you, 

126 


'THROUGH   LOVE    FOR    MY    CHILDREN'1 

Arthur  Ranger,  what  was  in  your  head  when  you  came  here 
to-day?  Grief  and  love  and  willingness  to  carry  out  your 
dead  father's  last  wishes?  No!  You  came  thinking  of  how 
you  were  to  benefit  by  his  death.  Don't  deny!  I  saw  your 
face  when  you  found  you  weren't  going  to  get  your  father's 
money." 

"  Mother!  "  exclaimed  Arthur. 

She  waved  him  down  imperiously;  and  he  was  afraid  be 
fore  her,  before  her  outraged  love  for  her  outraged  dead. 
"  Take  care  how  you  stamp  on  my  Hiram's  grave,  Arthur 
Ranger!" 

"  He  didn't  mean  it — you  know  he  didn't,"  pleaded  Ade 
laide.  At  that  moment  she  could  not  think  of  this  woman  as 
her  mother,  but  only  as  the  wife,  the  widow. 

But  Ellen's  instinct  told  her  that  her  son,  though  silent, 
was  still  in  traitorous  rebellion  against  her  idol.  And  she 
kept  on  at  him:  "With  Hiram  hardly  out  of  the  house, 
you've  forgot  all  he  did  for  you,  all  he  left  you — his  good  name, 
his  good  example.  You  think  only  of  his  money.  I've  heard 
you  say  children  owe  nothing  to  their  parents,  that  parents 
owe  everything  to  the  children.  Well,  that's  so.  But  it  don't 
mean  what  you  think.  It  don't  mean  that  parents  ought  to 
ruin  their  children.  And  your  pa  didn't  spare  himself  to  do 
his  duty  by  you — not  even  though  it  killed  him.  Yes,  it  killed 
him!  You'd  better  go  away  and  fall  on  your  knees  and  ask 
God  to  forgive  you  for  having  shortened  your  father's  life. 
And  I  tell  you,  Arthur  Ranger,  till  you  change  your  heart, 
you're  no  son  of  mine." 

"Mother!  Mother!"  cried  Arthur,  rushing  from  the 
room. 

Mrs.  Ranger  looked  vacantly  at  the  place  where  he  had 
been,  dropped  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  a  storm  of  tears. 

"  Call  him  back,  mother,"  entreated  Del. 

"No!  no!"  sobbed  Ellen  Ranger.  "He  spoke  agin'  my 
dead !  I'll  not  forgive  him  till  his  heart  changes." 

Adelaide  knelt  beside  her  mother  and  tried  to  put  her 
arms  around  her.  But  her  mother  shrank  away.  "  Don't 

127 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

touch  me !  "  she  cried ;  "  leave  me  alone.  God  forgive  me  for 
having  bore  children  that  trample  on  their  father's  grave.  I'll 
put  you  both  out  of  the  house — "  and  she  started  up  and  her 
voice  rose  to  a  shriek.  "  Yes — I'll  put  you  both  out!  Your 
foolishness  has  ate  into  you  like  a  cancer,  till  you're  both  rotten. 
Go  to  the  Whitneys.  Go  among  the  lepers  where  you  belong. 
You  ain't  fit  for  decent  people." 

She  pushed  Adelaide  aside,  and  with  uncertain  steps  went 
into  the  hall  and  up  toward  her  own  room. 


CHAPTER   XI 

"  SO    SENSITIVE  " 

DELAIDE  was  about  to  go  in  search  of  her 
brother  when  he  came  hunting  her.  A  good 
example  perhaps  excepted,  there  is  no  power 
for  good  equal  to  a  bad  example.  Arthur's 
outburst  before  his  mother  and  her,  and  in 
what  seemed  the  very  presence  of  the  dead,  had 
been  almost  as  potent  in  turning  Adelaide  from  bitterness  as 
the  influence  her  father's  personality,  her  father's  character 
had  got  over  her  in  his  last  illness.  And  now  the  very  sight 
of  her  brother's  face,  freely  expressing  his  thoughts,  since  Ellen 
was  not  there  to  shame  him,  gave  double  force  to  the  feelings 
her  mother's  denunciations  had  roused  in  her.  "  We've  got 
to  fight  it,  Del,"  Arthur  said,  flinging  himself  down  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet.  "  I'll  see  Torrey  to-morrow  morning." 
Adelaide  was  silent. 

He   looked   fiercely   at  her.     "  You're  going   to  help  me, 
aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  must  have  time  to  think,"  she  replied,  bent  on  not  pro 
voking  him  to  greater  fury. 

He  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture.  "  What  has  that 
Hargrave  fellow  been  saying  to  you?  "  he  cried.  "  You'll  have 
to  break  of?  with  him.  His  father — the  old  scoundrel! — got  at 
father  and  took  advantage  of  his  illness  and  his  religious  super 
stition.  I  know  just  how  it  was  done.  We'll  bring  it  all  out." 
Adelaide  did  not  answer. 

"  What  did  Dory  say  to  you?"  repeated  Arthur. 
"  He  went  as  soon  as  I  came  out  from  mother,"  sta  re 
plied.     She   thought  it  best  not  to  tell  him   that  Dory   had 

129 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

stopped  long  enough  to  urge  her  to  go  to  her  brother,  and  to 
make  and  keep  peace  with  him,  no  matter  what  he  might  say 
to  anger  her.  "  Don't  you  think,"  she  continued,  "  that  you 
ought  to  see  Janet  and  talk  with  her?  " 

Artie  sank  back  and  stared  somberly  at  the  ground. 

"  When  is  she  coming?  "  asked  his  sister. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  surlily.  "  Not  at  all,  per* 
haps.  The  Whitneys  won't  especially  care  about  having  any 
of  us  in  the  family  now."  He  looked  furtively  at  Adelaide, 
as  if  he  hoped  she  would  protest  that  he  was  mistaken,  would 
show  him  that  Janet  would  be  unchanged. 

"  Mrs.  Whitney  won't,"  said  Adelaide.  "  But  Janet — 
she's  different,  I  think.  She  seems  to  be  high-minded,  and  I 
believe  she  loves  you." 

Arthur  looked  relieved,  though  Adelaide  was  too  honest 
to  have  been  able  to  make  her  tone  as  emphatic  as  her  words. 
Yes,  Janet  was  indeed  high-minded,  he  said  to  himself;  did 
indeed  love  him.  Her  high-mindedness  and  the  angel  purity 
of  her  love  had  often  made  him  uneasy,  not  to  say  uncomfort 
able.  He  hated  to  be  at  the  trouble  of  pretenses;  but  Janet, 
living  on  a  far  higher  plan  than  he,  had  simply  compelled  it. 
To  let  her  see  his  human  weaknesses,  to  let  her  suspect  that 
he  was  not  as  high-minded  as  she  told  him  he  was,  to  strip 
from  himself  the  saintly  robes  and  the  diadem  with  which  she 
had  adorned  him — well,  he  would  put  it  off  until  after  mar 
riage,  he  had  always  told  himself,  and  perhaps  by  that  time  he 
would  feel  a  little  less  like  a  sinner  profaning  a  sanctuary  when 
he  kissed  her.  He  had  from  time  to  time  found  in  himself  a 
sinful  longing  that  she  were  just  a  little  less  of  an  angel,  just 
a  little  more  of  a  fellow  sinner — not  too  much,  of  course,  for 
a  man  wants  a  pure  wife,  a  pure  mother  for  his  children.  But, 
while  the  attitudes  of  worship  and  of  saintliness  were  cramped, 
often  severely  so,  still  on  the  whole  Arthur  had  thought  he  was 
content  with  Janet  just  as  she  was. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  Chicago  and  see  her?"  suggested 
Adelaide.  "  You  ought  to  talk  with  her  before  anyone  else 
has  a  chance.  I  wouldn't  put  anything  past  her  mother." 

130 


USO    SENSITIVE 


"  That's  a  good  idea!  "  exclaimed  Arthur,  his  face  clearing 
before  the  prospect  of  action.  "  I'll  take  the  night  train. 
Yes,  I  must  be  the  one  to  tell  her." 

Adelaide  had  a  sense  of  relief.  Arthur  would  see  Janet; 
Janet  would  pour  balm  upon  his  wounds,  would  lift  him  up 
to  a  higher,  more  generous  view.  Then,  whatever  he  might 
do  would  be  done  in  the  right  spirit,  with  respect  for  the  mem 
ory  of  their  father,  wTith  consideration  for  their  mother. 

"  You  had  better  not  see  mother  again  until  you  come 
back,"  she  suggested. 

His  face  shadowed  and  shame  came  into  it  that  was  from 
the  real  Arthur  Ranger,  the  son  of  Hiram  and  Ellen.  "  I 
wish  I  hadn't  burst  out  as  I  did,  Del,"  he  said.  "  I  forgot 
everything  in  my  owrn  wrongs.  I  want  to  try  to  make  it  all 
right  with  mother.  I  can't  believe  that  I  said  what  I  remem 
ber  I  did  say  before  her  who'd  be  glad  to  die  for  us." 

"  Everything'll  be  all  right  when  you  come  back,  Artie," 
she  assured  him. 

As  they  passed  the  outbuilding  where  the  garden  tools  were 
kept  they  both  glanced  in.  There  stood  the  tools  their  father 
had  always  used  in  pottering  about  the  garden,  above  them 
his  old  slouch  and  old  straw  hats.  Arthur's  lip  quivered ;  Ade 
laide  caught  her  breath  in  a  sob.  "O  Artie,"  she  cri 
brokenly,  "  He's  gone — gone — gone  for  ever."  And  Artie  sat 
on  the  little  bench  just  within  the  door  and  drew  Del  down 
beside  him,  and,  each  tightly  in  the  other's  arms,  they  cried 
like  the  children  that  they  were,  like  the  children  that  we  all 
are  in  face  of  the  great  tragedy. 

A  handsome  and  touching  figure  was  Arthur  Ranger  as  he 
left  his  cab  and  slowly  ascended  the  lawn  and  the  steps  of  the 
Whitney  palace  in  the  Lake  Drive  at  eleven  the  next  morn 
ing.  His  mourning  garments  were  most  becoming  to  him, 
contrasting  with  the  fairness  of  his  hair,  the  blue  of  his  eyes, 
and  the  pallor  of  his  skin.  He  looked  big  and  strong  and  sad, 
and  scrupulously  fashionable,  and  very  young. 

The  Whitneys  were  leading  in  Chicago  in  building  broad 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

and  ever  broader  the  barriers,  not  between  rich  and  poor,  but 
between  the  very,  very  rich  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Mrs. 
Whitney  had  made  a  painstaking  and  reverent  study  of  upper- 
class  life  in  England  and  on  the  Continent,  and  was  endeavor 
ing  to  use  her  education  for  the  instruction  of  her  associates, 
and  for  the  instilling  of  a  proper  awe  into  the  multitude.  To 
enter  her  door  was  at  once  to  get  the  impression  that  one  was 
receiving  a  high  privilege.  One  would  have  been  as  greatly 
shocked  as  was  Mrs.  Whitney  herself,  could  one  have  over 
heard  "  Charley  "  saying  to  her,  as  he  occasionally  did,  with 
a  grin  which  he  strove  to  make  as  "  common  "  as  he  knew 
how,  "  Really,  Tillie,  if  you  don't  let  up  a  little  on  this  put 
ting  on  dog,  I'll  have  to  take  to  sneaking  in  by  the  back  way. 
The  butler's  a  sight  more  of  a  gent  than  I  am,  and  the  house 
keeper  can  give  you  points  on  being  a  real,  head-on-a-pole-over- 
the-shoulder  lady."  A  low  fellow  at  heart  was  Charley  Whit 
ney,  like  so  many  of  his  similarly  placed  compatriots,  though 
he  strove  as  hard  as  do  they,  almost  as  hard  as  his  wife,  to 
conceal  the  deficiencies  due  to  early  training  in  vulgarly  demo 
cratic  ways  of  living  and  thinking. 

Arthur,  ushered  by  the  excruciatingly  fashionable  butler 
into  the  smallest  of  the  series  of  reception  salons,  fell  straight 
way  into  the  most  melancholy  spirits.  He  felt  the  black,  icy 
shadow  of  the  beginnings  of  doubt  as  to  his  right  to  admit 
tance  on  terms  of  equality,  now  that  his  titles  to  nobility  had 
been  torn  from  him  and  destroyed.  He  felt  that  he  was  in 
grave  danger  of  being  soon  mingled  in  the  minds  of  his  fash 
ionable  friends  and  their  servants  with  the  vulgar  herd,  the 
respectable  but  "  impossible  "  middle  classes.  Indeed,  he  was 
not  sure  that  he  didn't  really  belong  among  them.  The  sound 
of  Janet's  subdued,  most  elegant  rustle,  drove  out  of  his  mind 
everything  but  an  awful  dread  of  what  she  would  say  and 
think  and  feel  when  he  had  disclosed  to  her  the  hideous  truth. 
She  came  sweeping  in,  her  eyes  full  of  unshed  tears,  her  man 
ner  "a  model  of  refined  grief,  sympathetic,  soothing.  She  was 
tall  and  slim,  a  perfect  figure  of  the  long,  lithe  type ;  her  face 
was  small  and  fine  and  dreamy ;  her  hair  of  an  unusual  straw 

132 


SO    SENSITIVE 


color,  golden,  yet  pale,  too,  like  the  latest  autumn  leaves  in 
the  wan  sun  of  November ;  her  eyes  were  hazel,  in  strange  and 
thrilling  contrast  to  her  hair.  To  behold  her  was  to  behold 
all  that  man  finds  most  fascinating  in  woman,  but  so  illumined 
by  the  soul  within  that  to  look  on  it  with  man's  eye  for  charms 
feminine  seemed  somewhat  like  casting  sensuous  glances  upon 
beauty  enmarbled  in  a  temple's  fane.  Janet  was  human,  but 
the  human  that  points  the  way  to  sexless  heaven. 

"  Dear  Artie!  "  she  said  gently.  "  Dear  Artie!  "  And  she 
took  both  his  hands  and,  as  she  looked  at  him,  her  tears  fell. 
Arthur,  in  his  new  humility  of  poverty,  felt  honored  indeed 
that  any  loss  of  his  could  cause  her  matchless  soul  thus  to  droop 
upon  its  dazzling  outer  walls  the  somber,  showery  insignia  of 
grief.  "  But,"  she  went  on,  "  you  have  him  still  with  you — 
his  splendid,  rugged  character,  the  memory  of  all  he  did 
for  you." 

Arthur  was  silent.  They  were  seated  nowr,  side  by  side, 
and  he  was,  somewhat  timidly,  holding  one  of  her  hands. 

"  He  was  so  simple  and  so  honest — such  a  man  \  "  she 
continued.  "  Does  it  hurt  you,  dear,  for  me  to  talk  about 
him?" 

"  No — no,"  he  stammered,  "  I  came  to  you — to — to — talk 
about  him."  Then,  desperately,  seizing  her  other  hand  and 
holding  both  tightly,  "  Janet,  would  it  make  any  difference 
with  you  if  I — if  I — no —  What  am  I  saying?  Janet,  I  re 
lease  you  from  our  engagement.  I — I — have  no  prospects,"  he 
rushed  on.  "  Father —  They  got  round  him  and  wheedled 
him  into  leaving  everything  to  the  college — to  Tecumseh.  I 
have  nothing — I  must  give  you  up.  I  can't  ask  you  to  wrait — 
and " 

He  could  not  go  on.  He  longed  for  the  throbbing,  human 
touch  that  beauty  of  hers  could  make  so  thrilling.  But  she 
slowly  drew  away  her  hands.  Her  expression  made  him  say: 

"What  is  it,  Janet?     What  have  I  said  that  hurt  you?" 

"  Did  you  come,"  she  asked,  in  a  strange,  distan'  voice, 
"  because  you  thought  your  not  having  money  would  make  a 
difference  with  me?" 

133 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  No,"  he  protested,  in  wild  alarm.  "  It  was  only  that  I 
feel  I " 

"  You  feel  that  there  could  be  a  question  of  money  between 
us?"  she  interrupted. 

"Not  between  us,  Janet,"  he  said  eagerly;  "but  there  is 
your — your  mother." 

"  I  beg  you,"  she  replied  coldly,  "  not  to  speak  of  mamma 
in  that  way  to  me,  even  if  you  have  such  unjust  thoughts 
of  her." 

Arthur  looked  at  her  uncertainly.  He  had  an  instinct,  deep 
down,  that  there  was  something  wrong — something  in  her  that 
he  was  not  fathoming.  But  in  face  of  that  cloud-dwelling 
beauty,  he  could  only  turn  and  look  within  himself.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  dear,"  he  said.  "  You  know  so  little  of  the  prac 
tical  side  of  life.  You  live  so  apart  from  it,  so  high  above  it, 
that  I  was  afraid  I'd  be  doing  wrong  by  you  if  I  did  not  put 
that  side  of  it  before  you,  too.  But  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
I  knew  you  would  stand  by  me." 

She  remained  cold.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I'm  glad  or 
sorry,  Arthur,  that  you  let  me  see  into  your  real  self.  I've 
often  had  doubts  about  our  understanding  each  other,  about 
our  two  natures  being  in  that  perfect  harmony  which  makes 
the  true  marriage.  But  I've  shut  out  those  doubts  as  disloyal 
to  you.  Now,  you've  forced  me  to  see  they  were  only  too 
true!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Janet?  Of  course,  I'm  not  good 
enough  for  you — no  one  is,  for  that  matter;  but  I  love  you, 
and —  Do  you  care  for  me,  Janet?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  mournfully.     "  But  I  must  conquer  it. 

0  Arthur,  Arthur!  "     Her  voice  was  tremulous  now,  and  her 
strange  hazel  eyes  streamed  sorrowful  reproach.     "  How  could 
you  think  sordidly  of  what  was  sacred  and  holy  to  me,  of  what 

1  thought  was  holy  to  us  both  ?    You  couldn't,  if  you  had  been 
the  man  I  imagined  you  were." 

"  Don't  blame  a  fellow  for  every  loose  word  he  utters 
when  he's  all  upset,  Janet,"  he  pleaded.  "  Put  yourself  in  my 
place.  Suppose  you  found  you  hadn't  anything  at  all — found 

134 


"SO    SENSITIVE" 


it  out  suddenly,  when  all  along  you  had  been  thinking  you'd 
never  have  to  bother  about  money?  Suppose  you —  But  you 
must  know  how  the  world,  how  all  our  friends,  look  on  that 
sort  of  thing.  And  suppose  you  loved — just  as  I  love  you. 
Wouldn't  you  go  to  her  and  hope  she'd  brace  you  up  and  make 
you  feel  that  she  really  loved  you  and — all  that?  Wouldn't 
you,  Janet  ?  " 

She  looked  sadly  at  him.  "  You  don't  understand,"  she 
said,  her  rosebud  mouth  drooping  pathetically.  "  You  can't 
realize  how  you  shook — how  you  shattered — my  faith  in  you." 

He  caught  her  by  the  arms  roughly.  "  Look  here,  Janet 
Whitney.  Do  you  love  me  or  don't  you?  Do  you  intend  to 
throw  me  over,  now  that  I  have  lost  my  money,  or  do  you 
intend  to  be  all  you've  pretended  to  be?  " 

The  sadness  in  her  sweet  face  deepened.  "  Let  me  go,  Ar 
thur,"  she  said  quietly.  "  You  don't  understand.  You  never 
will." 

"Yes  or  no?"  he  demanded,  shaking  her.  Then  suddenly 
changing  to  tenderness,  with  all  his  longing  for  sympathy  in 
his  eyes  and  in  his  voice,  "  Janet — dear — yes  or  no?  " 

She  looked  away.  "  Don't  persist,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  or 
you  will  make  me  think  it  is  only  my  money  that  makes  you, 
that  made  you,  pretend  to — to  care  for  me." 

He  drew  back  sharply.     "Janet!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  think  so,"  she  continued,  after  a  con 
strained  silence.  "  But  I  can't  find  any  other  reason  for  your 
talking  and  acting  as  you  have  this  morning." 

He  tried  to  see  froip  her  point  of  view.  "  Maybe  it's  true," 
he  said,  "  that  other  things  than  our  love  have  had  too  much 
to  do  with  it,  with  both  of  us,  in  the  past.  But  I  love  you  for 
yourself  alone,  now,  Janet.  And,  you  haven't  a  fortune  of 
your  own,  but  only  expectations — and  they're  not  always 
realized,  and  in  your  case  can't  be  for  many  a  year.  So  we 
don't  start  so  unevenly.  Give  yourself  to  me,  Janet.  Show 
that  you  believe  in  me,  and  I  know  I  shall  not  disappoint  you." 

Very  manly  his  manner  was  as  he  said  this,  and  brave  and 
convincing  was  the  show  of  his  latent,  undeveloped  powers  in 

135 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

his  features  and  voice.  She  hesitated,  then  lowered  her  head, 
and,  in  a  sad,  gentle  voice,  said,  "  I  don't  trust  you,  Arthur. 
You've  cut  away  the  foundation  of  love.  It  would  be  fine 
and  beautiful  for  us  to  start  empty-handed  and  build  up  to 
gether,  if  we  were  in  sympathy  and  harmony.  But,  doubting 
you — I  can't." 

Again  he  looked  at  her  uneasily,  suspicious,  without  know 
ing  why  or  what.  But  one  thing  was  clear — to  plead  further 
with  her  would  be  self-degradation.  "  I  have  been  tactless," 
he  said  to  her.  "  Probably,  if  I  were  less  in  earnest,  I  should 
get  on  better.  But,  perhaps  you  will  judge  me  more  fairly 
when  you  think  it  over.  I'll  say  only  one  thing  more.  I  can't 
give  up  hope.  It's  about  all  I've  got  left — hope  of  you — be 
lief  in  you.  I  must  cling  to  that.  I'll  go  now,  Janet." 

She  said  nothing,  simply  looked  unutterable  melancholy, 
and  let  her  hand  lie  listlessly  in  his  until  he  dropped  it.  He 
looked  back  at  her  when  he  reached  the  door.  She  seemed  so 
sad  that  he  was  about  to  return  to  her  side.  She  sighed  heavily, 
gazed  at  him,  and  said,  "  Good-by,  Arthur."  After  that  he 
had  no  alternative.  He  went.  "  I  must  wait  until  she  is 
calm,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  She  is  so  delicately  strung." 

As  he  was  driving  toward  the  hotel,  his  gloom  in  his  face, 
he  did  not  see  Mrs.  Whitney  dash  past  and  give  him  an 
anxious  searching  glance,  and  sink  back  in  her  carriage  re 
assured  somewhat.  She  had  heard  that  he  was  on  the  Chi 
cago  express — had  heard  it  from  her  masseuse^  who  came  each 
morning  before  she  was  up.  She  had  leaped  to  the  telephone, 
had  ordered  a  special  train,  and  had  got  herself  into  it  and  off 
for  her  Chicago  home  by  half-past  eight.  *  That  sentimental 
girl,  full  of  high  ideals — what  mayn't  she  do !  "  she  was  mut 
tering,  almost  beside  herself  with  anxiety.  "  No  doubt  he'll 
try  and  induce  her  to  run  away  with  him."  And  the  rushing 
train  seemed  to  creep  and  crawl. 

She  burst  into  the  house  like  a  dignified  whirlwind. 
"Where's  Miss  Janet?"  she  demanded  of  the  butler. 

"  Still  in  the  blue  salon,  ma'am,  I  think,"  he  replied.  "  Mr. 
Arthur  Ranger  just  left  a  few  moments  ago." 

136 


"SO    SENSITIVE 


Clearing  her  surface  of  all  traces  of  agitation,  Mrs.  Whit 
ney  went  into  the  presence  of  her  daughter.  "Mamma!' 
cried  Janet,  starting  up.  "  Has  anything  happened?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  dear,  "  replied  her  mother,  kissing  her 
tenderly.  "  I  was  afraid  my  letter  might  have  miscarried. 
And,  when  I  heard  that  Arthur  had  slipped  away  to  Chicago, 
I  came  myself.  I've  brought  you  up  so  purely  and  innocently 
that  I  became  alarmed  lest  he  might  lead  you  into  some  rash 
sentimentality.  As  I  said  in  my  letter,  if  Arthur  had  grown 
up  into  a  strong,  manly  character,  I  should  have  been  eager 
to  trust  my  daughter  to  him.  But  my  doubts  about  him 
were  confirmed  by  the  will.  And — he  is  simply  a  fortune- 
hunter  now." 

Janet  had  hidden  her  face  in  her  handkerchief.  "  Oh,  no!  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  You  wrong  him,  mother." 

"You  haven't  encouraged  him,  Janet!"  cried  Mrs.  Whit 
ney.  "  After  what  I've  been  writing  you?  " 

"  The  loss  of  his  money  hasn't  made  any  difference  about 
him  with  me,"  said  Janet,  her  pure,  sweet  face  lighting  up 
with  the  expression  that  made  her  mother  half-ashamed  of  her 
own  worldliness. 

"Of  course  not!  Of  course  not,  Janet,"  said  she.  "No 
child  of  mine  could  be  mercenary  without  being  utterly  false 
to  my  teachings." 

Janet's  expression  was  respectful,  yet  not  confirmatory. 
She  had  often  protested  inwardly  against  the  sordid  views  of 
life  which  her  mother  unconsciously  held  and  veiled  with  scant 
decency  in  the  family  circle  in  her  unguarded  moments.  But 
she  had  fought  against. the  contamination,  and  proudly  felt  that 
her  battle  for  the  "  higher  plane  "  was  successful. 

Her  mother  returned,  somewhat  awkwardly,  to  the  mair; 
point.  "  I  hope  you  didn't  encourage  him,  Janet." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  talk  of  it,  mother,"  was  Janet's  reply. 
"  I  have  not  been  well,  and  all  this  has  upset  me." 

Mrs.  Whitney  was  gnawing  her  palms  with  her  nails  and 
her  lip  with  her  teeth.    She  could  scarcely  restrain  herself  from 
seizing  her  daughter  and  shaking  the  truth,  whatever  it  was, 
10  1^ 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

out  of  her.  But  prudence  and  respect  for  her  daughter's  deli 
cate  soul  restrained  her. 

"  You  have  made  it  doubly  hard  for  me,"  Janet  went  on. 
"  Your  writing  me  to  stay  away  because  there  was  doubt  about 
Arthur's  material  future — oh,  mother,  how  could  that  make 
any  difference?  If  I  had  not  been  feeling  so  done,  and  if 
father  hadn't  been  looking  to  me  to  keep  him  company,  I'd 
surely  have  gone.  For  I  hate  to  have  my  motive  mis 
understood." 

"  He  has  worked  on  her  soft-heartedness  and  inexperience," 
thought  Mrs.  Whitney,  in  a  panic. 

"  And  when  Arthur  came  to-day,"  the  girl  continued,  "  I 
was  ready  to  fly  to  him."  She  looked  tragic.  "  And  even  when 
he  repulsed  me " 

"  Repulsed  you !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whitney.  She  laughed 
disagreeably.  "  He's  subtler  than  I  thought." 

"  Even  when  he  repulsed  me,"  pursued  Janet,  "  with  his 
sordid  way  of  looking  at  everything,  still  I  tried  to  cling  to 
him,  to  shut  my  eyes." 

Mrs.  Whitney  vented,  an  audible  sigh  of  relief.  "  Then 
you  didn't  let  him  deceive  you !  " 

"  He  shattered  my  last  illusion,"  said  Janet,  in  a  mournful 
voice.  "  Mother,  I  simply  couldn't  believe  in  him,  in  the 
purity  of  his  love.  I  had  to  give  him  up." 

Mrs.  Whitney  put  her  arms  round  her  daughter  and  kissed 
her  soothingly  again  and  again.  "  Don't  grieve,  dear,"  she 
said.  "  Think  how  much  better  it  is  that  you  should  have 
found  him  out  now  than  when  it  was  too  late." 

And  Janet  shuddered. 

Ross  dropped  in  at  the  house  in  the  Lake  Drive  the  next 
morning  on  his  way  East  from  the  Howlands.  As  soon  as  he 
was  alone  with  his  mother,  he  asked,  "  How  about  Janet  and 
Arthur?" 

Mrs.  Whitney  put  on  her  exalted  expression.  "  I'm  glad 
you  said  nothing  before  Janet,"  said  she.  '  The  child  is  so 
sensitive,  and  Arthur  has  given  her  a  terrible  shock.  Men  are 

138 


SO    SENSITIVE 


so  coarse;  they  do  not  appreciate  the  delicateness  of  a  refined 
woman.  In  this  case,  however,  it  was  most  fortunate.  She 
was  able  to  see  into  his  true  nature." 

"Then  she's  broken  it  off?     That's  good." 

"  Be  careful  what  you  say  to  her/'  his  mother  hastened  to 
warn  him.  "  You  might  upset  her  mind  again.  She's  so  afraid 
of  being  misunderstood." 

"  She  needn't  be,"  replied  Ross  dryly. 

And  when  he  looked  in  on  Janet  in  her  sitting  room  to  say 
good-by,  he  began  with  a  satirical,  "  Congratulations,  Jenny." 

Jenny  looked  at  him  with  wondering  eyes.  She  was  droop 
ing  like  a  sunless  flower  and  was  reading  poetry  out  of  a  beau 
tifully  bound  volume.  "  What  is  it,  Ross?  "  she  asked. 

"  On  shaking  Artie  so  smoothly.  Trust  you  to  do  the 
right  thing  at  the  right  time,  and  in  the  right  way.  You're  a 
beauty,  Jen,  and  no  mistake,"  laughed  Ross.  "  I  never  saw 
your  like.  You  really  must  marry  a  title — Madame  la  Du- 
chesse!  And  nobody's  on  to  you  but  me.  You  aren't  even  on 
to  yourself !  " 

Janet  drew  up  haughtily  and  swept  into  her  bedroom,  clos 
ing  the  door  with  almost  coarse  emphasis. 


139 


CHAPTER   XII 

ARTHUR    FALLS   AMONG    LAWYERS 

RTHUR  ended  his  far  from  orderly  retreat  at 
the  Auditorium,  and  in  the  sitting  room  of  his 
suite  there  set  about  re-forming  his  lines,  with 
some  vague  idea  of  making  another  attack  later 
in  the  day — one  less  timid  and  blundering. 
"  I'd  better  not  have  gone  near  her,"  said  he  dis 
gustedly.  "  How  could  a  man  win  when  he  feels  beaten  before 
he  begins  ?  "  He  was  not  now  hazed  by  Janet's  beauty  and  her 
voice  like  bells  in  evening  quiet,  and  her  mystic  ideas.  Youth, 
rarely  wise  in  action,  is  often  wise  in  thought;  and  Arthur, 
having  a  reasoning  apparatus  that  worked  uncommonly  well 
when  he  set  it  in  motion  and  did  not  interfere  with  it,  was 
soon  seeing  his  situation  as  a  whole  much  as  it  was — ugly, 
mocking,  hopeless. 

"  Maybe  Janet  knows  the  real  reason  why  she's  acting  this 
way,  maybe  she  don't,"  thought  he,  with  the  disposition  of  the 
inexperienced  to  give  the  benefit  of  even  imaginary  doubt.  "  No 
matter;  the  fact  is,  it's  all  up  between  us."  This  finality,  un 
expectedly  staring  at  him,  gave  him  a  shock.  "  Why,"  he 
muttered,  "  she  really  has  thrown  me  over !  All  her  talk  was 
a  blind — a  trick."  And,  further  exhibiting  his  youth  in  holding 
the  individual  responsible  for  the  system  of  which  the  individual 
is  merely  a  victim,  usually  a  pitiable  victim,  he  went  to  the 
opposite  extreme  and  fell  to  denouncing  her — cold-hearted  and 
mercenary  like  her  mother,  a  coward  as  well  as  a  hypocrite — 
for,  if  she  had  had  any  of  the  bravery  of  self-respect,  wouldn't 
she  have  been  frank  with  him?  He  reviewed  her  in  the  flood 
ing  new  light  upon  her  character,  this  light  that  revealed  her 

140 


ARTHUR    FALLS   AMONG    LAWYERS 

as  mercilessly  as  flash  of  night-watchman's  lantern  on  guilty, 
shrinking  form.  "She —  Why,  she  always  was  a  fakir!" 
he  exclaimed,  stupefied  by  the  revelation  of  his  own  lack  of 
discernment,  he  who  had  prided  himself  on  his  acuteness,  es 
pecially  as  to  women.  "  From  childhood  up,  she  has  always 
made  herself  comfortable,  no  matter  who  was  put  out;  she 
has  gotten  whatever  she  wanted,  always  pretending  to  be  un 
selfish,  always  making  it  look  as  if  the  other  person  were  in  the 
wrong."  There  he  started  up  in  the  rage  of  the  hoodwinked, 
at  the  recollection  of  an  incident  of  the  previous  summer 
— how  she  had  been  most  gracious  to  a  young  French  noble 
man,  in  America  in  search  of  a  wife;  how  anybody  but  "  spirit 
ual  "  Janet  would  have  been  accused  of  outrageous  flirting — no, 
not  accused,  but  convicted.  He  recalled  a  vague  story  which 
he  had  set  down  to  envious  gossip — a  story  that  the  Frenchman 
had  departed  on  learning  that  Charles  Whitney  had  not  yet 
reached  the  stage  of  fashionable  education  at  which  the  Amer 
ican  father  appreciates  titles  and  begins  to  listen  without  losing 
his  temper  when  the  subject  of  settlements  is  broached.  He 
remembered  now  that  Janet  had  been  low-spirited  for  some 
time  after  the  Frenchman  took  himself  and  title  and  eloquent 
eyes  and  "  soulful,  stimulating  conversation  "  to  another  mar 
ket.  "  What  a  damn  fool  I've  been !  "  Arthur  all  but  shouted 
at  his  own  image  in  a  mirror  which  by  chance  wras  opposite  him. 
A  glance,  and  his  eyes  shifted;  somehow,  it  gave  him  no 
pleasure,  but  the  reverse,  to  see  that  handsome  face  and 
well-set-up,  well-dressed  figure. 

"  She  was  marrying  me  for  money,"  he  went  on,  when  he 
had  once  more  seated  himself,  legs  crossed  and  cigarette  going, 
reflectively.  The  idea  seemed  new  to  him — that  people  with 
money  could  marry  for  money,  just  as  a  capitalist  goes  only 
where  he  hopes  to  increase  his  capital.  But  on  examining  it 
more  closely,  he  wras  surprised  to  find  that  it  was  not  new 
at  all.  "What  am  I  so  virtuous  about?"  said  he.  "Wasn't 
/  after  money,  too?  If  our  circumstances  were  reversed,  \vhat 
would  I  be  doing?"  He  could  find  but  one  honest  ans\ver. 
"  No  doubt  I'd  be  trying  to  get  out  of  it,  and  if  I  didn't,  it'd 

141 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

be  because  I  couldn't  see  or  make  a  way."  To  his  abnormally 
sensitized  nerves  the  whole  business  began  to  exude  a  distinct, 
nauseating  odor.  "  Rotten — that's  the  God's  truth,"  thought 
he.  "  Father  was  right!  " 

But  there  he  drew  back ;  he  must  be  careful  not  to  let  anger 
sweep  him  into  conceding  too  much.  "  No — life's  got  to  be 
•  lived  as  the  world  dictates,"  he  hastened  to  add.  "  I  see  now 
why  father  did  it,  but  he  went  too  far.  He  forgot  my  rights. 
The  money  is  mine.  And,  by  God,  I'll  get  it!  "  And  again 
he  started  up ;  and  again  he  was  caught  and  put  out  of  counte 
nance  by  his  own  image  in  the  mirror.  He  turned  away, 
shamefaced,  but  sullenly  resolute. 

Base?  He  couldn't  deny  it.  But  he  was  desperate;  also, 
he  had  been  too  Jong  accustomed  to  grabbing  things  to  which 
his  conscience  told  him  he  had  doubtful  right  or  none.  "  It's 
mine.  I've  been  cheated  out  of  it.  I'll  get  it.  Besides — "  His 
mind  suddenly  cleared  of  the  shadow  of  shame — "  I  owe  it  to 
mother  and  Del  to  make  the  fight.  They've  been  cheated,  too. 
Because  they're  too  soft-hearted  and  too  reverent  of  father's 
memory,  is  that  any  reason,  any  excuse,  for  my  shirking  my 
duty  by  them?  If  father  were  here  to  speak,  I  know  he'd  ap 
prove."  Before  him  rose  the  frightful  look  in  his  father's  eyes 
in  the  earlier  stage  of  that  second  and  last  illness.  "  That's 
what  the  look  meant!"  he  cried,  now  completely  justified. 
"  He  recovered  his  reason.  He  wanted  to  undo  the  mischief 
that  old  sneak  Hargrave  had  drawn  him  into!" 

The  case  was  complete:  His  father  had  been  insane  when 
he  made  the  will,  had  repented  afterward,  but  had  been  unable 
to  unmake  it;  his  only  son  Arthur  Ranger,  now  head  of  the 
family,  owed  it  to  the  family's  future  and  to  its  two  helpless 
and  oversentimental  women  to  right  the  wrong.  A  complete 
case,  a  clear  case,  a  solemn  mandate.  Interest  and  duty  were 
synonymous — as  always  to  ingenious  minds. 

He  lost  no  time  in  setting  about  this  newly  discovered  high 
task  of  love  and  justice.  Within  twenty  minutes  he  was 
closeted  with  Dawson  of  the  great  law  firm,  Mitchell,  Dawson, 
Vance  &  Bischoffsheimer,  who  had  had  the  best  seats  on 

142 


ARTHUR    FALLS    AMONG    LAWYERS 

all  the  fattest  stranded  carcasses  of  the  Middle  West  for  a 
decade — that  is,  ever  since  Bischoffsheimer  joined  the  firm  and 
taught  its  intellects  how  on  a  vast  scale  to  transubstantiate 
technically  legal  knowledge  into  technically  legal  wealth.  Daw- 
son — lean  and  keen,  tough  and  brown  of  skin,  and  so  carelessly 
dressed  that  he  looked  as  if  he  slept  in  his  clothes — listened  \vith 
the  sympathetic,  unwandering  attention  which  men  give  only 
him  who  comes  telling  where  and  how  they  can  make  money. 
The  young  man  ended  his  story,  all  in  a  glow  of  enthusiasm 
for  his  exalted  motives  and  of  satisfaction  with  his  eloquence 
in  nresenting  them;  then  came  the  shrewd  and  thorough  cross- 
examination  which,  he  believed,  strengthened  every  point  he  had 
made. 

"  On  your  showing,"  was  Dawson's  cautious  verdict,  "  you 
seem  to  have  a  case.  But  you  must  not  forget  that  judges  and 
juries  have  a  deep  prejudice  against  breaking  wills.  They're 
usually  fathers  themselves,  and  guard  the  will  as  the  parent's 
strongest  weapon  in  keeping  the  children  in  order  after  they're 
too  old  for  the  strap  or  the  bed  slat,  as  the  case  may  be.  Un 
due  influence  or  mental  infirmity  must  be  mighty  clearly  proven. 
Even  then  the  court  may  decide  to  let  the  will  stand,  on  gen 
eral  principles.  Your  mother  and  sister,  of  course,  join  you?" 

"  I — I  hope  so,"  hesitated  Arthur.  "  I'm  not  sure."  More 
self-possessedly :  ''You  know  how  it  is  with  women — with 
ladies — how  they  shrink  from  notoriety." 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  do,"  said  Dawson  dryly.  "  Ladies  need 
money  even  more  than  women  do,  and  so  they'll  usually  go  the 
limit,  and  beyond,  to  get  it.  However,  assuming  that  for  some 
reason  or  other,  your  mother  and  sister  won't  help,  at  least  they 
won't  oppose  ?  " 

"  My  sister  is  engaged  to  the  son  of  Dr.  Hargrave,"  said 
Arthur  uneasily. 

"That's  good — excellent!  "  exclaimed  Dawson,  rubbing  his 
gaunt,  beard-discolored  jaw  vigorously. 

"  But — he — Theodore  Hargrave  is  a  sentimental,  unprac 
tical  chap." 

"  So  are  we  all — but  not  in  money  matters." 

143 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  He's  an  exception,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Arthur.  "  Really — 
I  think  it's  almost  certain  he'll  try  to  influence  her  to  take  sides 
against  me.  And  my  mother  was  very  bitter  when  I  spoke 
of  contest.  But,  as  I've  shown  you,  my  case  is  quite  apart 
from  what  they  may  or  may  not  do." 

"  Um — um,"  grunted  Dawson.  He  threw  himself  back 
in  his  chair;  to  aid  him  in  thinking,  he  twisted  the  only  remain 
ing  crown-lock  of  his  gray-black  hair,  and  slowly  drew  his  thin 
lips  from  his  big  sallow  teeth,  and  as  slowly  returned  them  to 
place.  "  Obviously,"  he  said  at  length,  "  the  doctor  is  the 
crucial  witness.  We  must  see  to  it  that  " — a  significant  grin — 
"  that  the  other  side  does  not  attach  him.  We  must  anticipate 
them  by  attaching  him  to  us.  I'll  see  what  can  be  done — legiti 
mately,  you  understand.  Perhaps  you  may  have  to  engage 
additional  counsel — some  such  firm  as,  say,  Humperdink  & 
Grafter.  Often,  in  cases  nowadays,  there  is  detail  work  of  an 
important  character  that  lawyers  of  our  standing  couldn't  think 
of  undertaking.  But,  of  course,  we  work  in  harmony  with 
such  other  counsel  as  our  client  sees  fit  to  engage." 

"Certainly;  I  understand,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  knowing, 
"  man-of-the-world  "  nod.  His  cause  being  good  and  its  tri 
umph  necessary,  he  must  not  be  squeamish  about  any  alliances 
it  might  be  necessary  to  make  as  a  means  to  that  triumph,  where 
the  world  was  so  wicked.  "  Then,  you  undertake  the  case." 

11  We  will  look  into  it,"  Dawson  corrected.  "  You  appre 
ciate  that  the  litigation  will  be  somewhat  expensive?" 

Arthur  reddened.  No,  he  hadn't  thought  of  that!  When 
ever  he  had  wanted  anything,  he  had  ordered  it,  and  had  let 
the  bill  go  to  his  father;  whenever  he  had  wanted  money,  he 
had  sent  to  his  father  for  it,  and  had  got  it.  Dawson 's  ques 
tion  made  the  reality  of  his  position — moneyless,  resourceless, 
friendless — burst  over  him  like  a  waterspout.  Dawson  saw 
and  understood;  but  it  was  not  his  cue  to  lessen  that  sense  of 
helplessness. 

At  last  Arthur  sufficiently  shook  off  his  stupor  to  say :  "  Un 
less  I  win  the  contest,  I  shan't  have  any  resources  beyond  the 
five  thousand  I  get  under  the  will,  and  a  thousand  or  so  I 

144 


ARTHUR    FALLS   AMONG    LAWYERS 

have  in  bank  at  Saint  X — and  what  little  I  could  realize  from 
my  personal  odds  and  ends.  Isn't  there  some  way  the  thing 
could  be  arranged  ?  " 

"  There  is  the  method  of  getting  a  lawyer  to  take  a  case 
on  contingent  fee,"  said  Dawson.  "  That  is,  the  lawyer  gets 
;a  certain  per  cent  of  what  he  wins,  and  nothing  if  he  loses. 
But  we  don't  make  such  arrangements.  They  are  regarded  as 
almost  unprofessional;  I  couldn't  honestly  recommend  any  law 
yer  who  would.  But,  let  me  see — um — um — "  Dawson  was 
reflecting  again,  with  an  ostentation  which  might  have  roused 
the  suspicions  of  a  less  guileless  person  than  Arthur  Ranger 
at  twenty-five.  "  You  could,  perhaps,  give  us  a  retainer  of  say, 
a  thousand  in  cash?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur,  relieved.  He  thought  he  saw  light 
ahead. 

"  Then  we  could  take  your  note  for  say,  five  thousand — due 
in  eighteen  months.  You  could  renew  it,  if  your  victory  wras 
by  any  chance  delayed  beyond  that  time." 

"  Your  victory  "  was  not  very  adroit,  but  it  was  adroit 
enough  to  bedazzle  Arthur.  "  Certainly,"  said  he  gratefully. 

Dawson  shut  his  long,  wild-looking  teeth  and  gently  drew 
back  his  dry,  beard-discolored  lips,  while  his  keen  eyes  glinted 
behind  his  spectacles.  The  fly  had  a  leg  in  the  web ! 

Business  being  thus  got  into  a  smooth  way,  Dawson  and 
Arthur  became  great  friends.  Nothing  that  Dawson  said  was 
a  specific  statement  of  belief  in  the  ultimate  success  of  the 
suit;  but  his  every  look  and  tone  implied  confidence.  Arthur 
went  away  with  face  radiant  and  spirit  erect.  He  felt  that  he 
was  a  man  of  affairs,  a  man  of  consequence.  He  had  lawyers, 
and  a  big  suit  pending ;  and  soon  he  would  be  rich.  He  thought 
of  Janet,  and  audibly  sneered.  "  I'll  make  the  Whitneys  sick 
of  their  treachery!"  said  he.  Back  had  come  his  sense  of 
strength  and  superiority;  and  once  more  he  wras  "gracious" 
with  servants  and  with  such  others  of  the  "  peasantry  "  as  hap 
pened  into  or  near  his  homeward  path. 

Toward  three  o'clock  that  afternoon,  as  he  was  being 
whirled  toward  Saint  X  in  the  Eastern  Express,  his  lawyer 

U5 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

was  in  the  offices  of  Ramsay  &  Vanorden,  a  rival  firm  of 
wreckers  and  pirate  outfitters  on  the  third  floor  of  the  same 
building.  When  Dawson  had  despatched  his  immediate  busi 
ness  with  Vanorden,  he  lingered  to  say:  "  Well,  I  reckon  we'll 
soon  be  lined  up  on  opposite  sides  in  another  big  suit." 

Confidences  between  the  two  firms  were  frequent  and  nat 
ural — not  only  because  Vanorden  and  Dawson  were  intimate 
friends  and  of  the  greatest  assistance  each  to  the  other  socially 
and  politically;  not  only  because  Ramsay  and  Bischoffsheimer 
had  married  sisters;  but  also,  and  chiefly,  because  big  lawyers 
like  to  have  big  lawyers  opposed  to  them  in  a  big  suit.  For 
several  reasons;  for  instance,  ingenuity  on  each  side  prolongs 
the  litigation  and  makes  it  intricate,  and  therefore  highly  ex 
pensive,  and  so  multiplies  the  extent  of  the  banquet. 

"How  so?"  inquired  Vanorden,  put  on  the  alert  by  the 
significant  intonation  of  his  friend. 

"  The  whole  Ranger- Whitney  business  is  coming  into  court. 
Ranger,  you  know,  passed  over  the  other  day.  He  cut  his  fam 
ily  off  with  almost  nothing— gave  his  money  to  Tecumseh  Col 
lege.  The  son's  engaged  us  to  attack  the  will." 

"  Where  do  we  come  in?  "  asked  Vanorden. 

Dawson  laughed  and  winked.  "  I  guess  your  client,  old 
Charley  Whitney,  won't  miss  the  chance  to  intervene  in  the 
suit  and  annex  the  whole  business,  in  the  scrimmage." 

Vanorden  nodded.  "  Oh,  I  see,"  said  he.  "I  see!  Yes, 
we'll  take  a  hand — sure !  " 

"  There  won't  be  much  in  it  for  us,"  continued  Dawson. 
"  The  boy's  got  nothing,  and  between  you  and  me,  Len,  the 
chances  are  against  him.  But  you  fellows  and  whoever  gets 
the  job  of  defending  the  college's  rights — "  Dawson  opened 
his  arms  and  made  a  humorous,  huge,  in-sweeping  gesture. 
"  And,"  he  added,  "  Whitney's  one  of  the  trustees  under  the 
will.  See?" 

"  Thanks,  old  man."  Vanorden  was  laughing  like  a  shrewd 
and  mischievous  but  through-and-through  good-natured  boy. 
The  two  brilliant  young  leaders  of  the  Illinois  bar  shook  hands 
warmly. 


ARTHUR    FALLS   AMONG    LAWYERS 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Charles  Whitney  was  soon  in 
dorsing  a  plan  to  cause,  and  to  profit  by,  sly  confusion — the 
plan  of  his  able  lawyers.  They  had  for  years  steered  his  hardy 
craft,  now  under  the  flag  of  peaceful  commerce  and  now  under 
the  black  banner  of  the  buccaneer.  The  best  of  pilots,  they 
had  enabled  him  to  clear  many  a  shoal  of  bankruptcy,  many  a 
reef  of  indictment.  They  served  well,  for  he  paid  well. 


147 


CHAPTER   XIII 

BUT   IS   RESCUED 

Y  the  time  he  reached  Saint  X  our  young  "  man 
of  affairs  "  believed  his  conscience  soundly  con 
verted  to  his  adventure;  and,  as  he  drove  to 
ward  the  house,  a  final  survey  of  his  defenses 
and  justifications  satisfied  him  that  they  were 
impregnable.  Nevertheless,  as  he  descended 
from  the  station  hack  and  entered  the  grounds  of  the  place  that 
in  his  heart  of  heart  was  all  that  the  word  "  home  "  can  contain, 
he  felt  strangely  like  a  traitor  and  a  sneak.  He  kept  his  manner 
of  composed  seriousness,  but  he  reasoned  in  vain  against  those 
qualms  of  shame  and  panic.  At  the  open  front  door  he  dared 
not  lift  his  eyes  lest  he  should  be  overwhelmed  by  the  sight 
of  that  colossal  figure,  with  a  look  in  its  face  that  would  force 
him  to  see  the  truth  about  his  thoughts  and  his  acts.  The  house 
seemed  deserted ;  on  the  veranda  that  opened  out  from  the  back 
parlor  he  found  Dory  Hargrave,  reading.  He  no  longer  felt 
bitter  toward  Dory.  Thinking  over  the  whole  of  the  Ranger- 
Whitney  relations  and  the  sudden  double  break  in  them,  he 
had  begun  to  believe  that  perhaps  Adelaide  had  had  the  good 
luck  to  make  an  extremely  clever  stroke  when  she  shifted  from 
Ross  Whitney  to  Hargrave.  Anyhow,  Dory  was  a  fine  fellow, 
both  in  looks  and  in  brains,  with  surprisingly  good,  yes,  really 
amazing  air  and  manner — considering  his  opportunities;  he'd, 
be  an  ornament  to  any  family  as  soon  as  he  had  money  enough 
properly  to  equip  himself — which  would  be  very  soon,  now  that 
the  great  Dawson  was  about  to  open  fire  on  the  will  and  de 
molish  it. 

148 


BUT    IS    RESCUED 


"  Howdy,"  he  accordingly  said,  with  only  a  shade  less  than 
his  old  friendliness,  and  that  due  to  embarrassment,  and  not  at 
all  to  ill  feeling.  "  Where's  mother— and  Del?  " 

"  Your  sister  has  taken  your  mother  for  a  drive,"  replied 
Hargrave. 

"Smoke?"  said  Arthur,  extending  his  gold  cigarette  case, 
open. 

Dory  preferred  his  own  brand  of  cigarettes ;  but,  feeling  that 
he  ought  to  meet  any  advance  of  Arthur's,  he  took  one  of  the 
big,  powerful  Egyptians  with  "  A.  R."  on  it  in  blue  mono 
gram.  They  smoked  in  silence  a  moment  or  so,  Arthur  con 
sidering  whether  to  practise  on  Dory  the  story  of  his  proposed 
contest,  to  enable  him  to  tell  it  in  better  form  to  his  mother 
and  sister.  "  I've  been  to  Chicago  to  see  about  contesting  the 
will,"  he  began,  deciding  for  the  rehearsal. 

"  I  supposed  so,"  said  Hargrave. 

"  Of  course,  for  mother's  and  Del's  sake  I  simply  have  to 
do  it,"  he  went  on,  much  encouraged.  "  Anyone  who  knew 
father  knows  he  must  have  been  out  of  his  mind  when  he  made 
that  will." 

"  I  see  your  point  of  view,"  said  Dory,  embarrassed.  Then, 
with  an  effort  he  met  Arthur's  eyes,  but  met  them  fearlessly. 
"  You  misunderstood  me.  I  think  a  contest  is  a  mistake." 

Arthur  flamed.  "  Naturally  you  defend  your  father,"  he 
sneered. 

"  Let  us  leave  my  father  out  of  this,"  said  Dory.  His 
manner  made  it  impossible  for  Arthur  to  persist.  For,  Dory 
wras  one  of  those  who  have  the  look  of  "  peace  with  honor  "  that 
keeps  to  bounds  even  the  man  crazed  by  anger. 

"  You  can't  deny  I  have  a  legal  right  to  make  the  contest," 
pursued  Arthur. 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  And  a  moral  right,  too,"  said  Arthur,  somewhat  defiantly. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Dory.  The  tone  of  the  "  yes  " — or  was 
it  Arthur's  own  self-respect — made  him  suspect  Dory  of  think 
ing  that  a  man  might  have  the  clearest  legal  and  moral  right 
and  still  not  be  able  to  get  his  honor's  consent.  "  But  why  dis- 

149 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

cuss  the  matter,  Arthur  ?    You  couldn't  be  changed  by  anything 
I'd  say." 

"  We  will  discuss  it!  "  exclaimed  Arthur  furiously.  "  I  see 
what  your  plan  is.  You  know  I'm  bound  to  win;  so  you'll 
try  to  influence  Del  and  mother  against  me,  and  get  the  credit 
for  taking  high  ground,  and  at  the  same  time  get  the  benefit 
of  the  breaking  of  the  will.  When  the  will's  broken,  mother'll 
have  her  third ;  you  think  you  can  stir  up  a  quarrel  between  her 
and  me,  and  she'll  leave  all  of  her  third  to  Del  and  you." 

Arthur  had  started  up  threateningly.  There  showed  at  his 
eyes  and  mouth  the  ugliest  of  those  alien  passions  which  his 
associations  had  thrust  into  him,  and  which  had  been  master 
ever  since  the  reading  of  the  will.  The  signs  were  all  for 
storm;  but  Dory  sat  impassive.  He  looked  steadily  at  Arthur 
until  Arthur  could  no  longer  withstand,  but  had  to  drop  his 
eyes.  Then  he  said :  "  I  want  you  to  think  over  what  you  have 
just  said  to  me,  Artie — especially  your  calculations  on  the  death 
of  your  mother." 

Arthur  dropped  back  into  his  chair. 

"  Honestly,  Artie,  honestly,"  Dory  went  on,  with  the  friend 
liest  earnestness,  "  isn't  there  something  wrong  about  anything 
that  causes  the  man  you  are  by  nature  to  think  and  feel  and 
talk  that  way,  when  his  father  is  not  a  week  dead  ?  " 

Arthur  forced  a  sneer,  but  without  looking  at  Dory. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  day  of  the  funeral?  "  Dory  went 
on.  "  It  had  been  announced  in  the  papers  that  the  burial 
would  be  private.  As  we  drove  out  of  the  front  gates  there, 
I  looked  round — you  remember  it  was  raining.  There  were 
uncovered  farm  wagons  blocking  the  streets  up  and  down. 
There  were  thousands  of  people  standing  in  the  rain  with  bared 
heads.  And  I  saw  tears  thick  as  the  rain  drops  streaming  down 
faces  of  those  who  had  known  your  father  as  boy  and  man, 
who  had  learned  to  know  he  was  all  that  a  human  being 
should  be." 

Arthur  turned  away  to  hide  his  features  from  Dory. 

"  That  was  your  father,  Artie.  What  if  he  could  have 
heard  you  a  few  minutes  ago  ?  " 

150 


BUT    IS    RESCUED 


"  I  don't  need  to  have  anyone  praise  my  father  to  me," 
said  Arthur,  trying  to  mask  his  feelings  behind  anger.  "  And 
what  you  say  is  no  reason  why  I  should  let  mother  and  Del 
and  myself  be  cheated  out  of  what  he  wanted  us  to  have." 

Dory  left  it  to  Arthur's  better  self  to  discuss  that  point 
with  him.  "  I  know  you'll  do  what  is  right,"  said  he  sincerely  o 
"  You  are  more  like  your  father  than  you  suspect  as  yet,  Artie. 
I  should  have  said  nothing  to  you  if  you  hadn't  forced  your 
confidence  on  me.  What  I've  said  is  only  what  you'd  say  to 
me,  were  I  in  your  place  and  you  in  mine — what  you'll  think 
yourself  a  month  from  now.  What  lawyer  advised  you  to  un 
dertake  the  contest?" 

"  Dawson  of  Mitchell,  Dawson,  Vance  &  Bischoffsheimer. 
As  good  lawyers  as  there  are  in  the  country." 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  said  Dory,  after  brief  hesitation, 
"  that  Judge  Torrey  calls  them  a  quartette  of  unscrupulous 
scoundrels — says  they're  regarded  as  successful  only  because 
success  has  sunk  to  mean  supremacy  in  cheating  and  double- 
dealing.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  terms  they  gave 
you — about  fee  and  expenses?" 

"  A  thousand  down,  and  a  note  for  five  thousand,"  replied 
Arthur,  compelled  to  speech  by  the  misgivings  Dory  was  raising 
within  him  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  That  is,  as  the  first  installment,  they  take  about  all  the 
money  in  sight.  Does  that  look  as  if  they  believed  in  the 
contest  ?  " 

At  this  Arthur  remembered  and  understood  Dawson's  re 
mark,  apparently  casual,  but  really  crucial,  about  the  necessity 
of  attaching  Dr.  Schulze.  Without  Schulze,  he  had  no  case; 
and  Dawson  had  told  him  so !  What  kind  of  a  self-hypnotized 
fool  was  he,  not  to  hear  the  plainest  warnings?  And  without 
waiting  to  see  Schulze,  he  had  handed  over  his  money! 

"  I  know  you  think  I  am  not  unprejudiced  about  this  will," 
Dory  went  on.  "  But  I  ask  you  to  have  a  talk  with  Judge 
Torrey.  While  he  made  the  will,  it  was  at  your  father's  com 
mand,  and  he  didn't  and  doesn't  approve  it.  He  knows  all  the 
circumstances.  Before  you  go  any  further,  wouldn't  it  be  well 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION 

to  see  him?  You  know  there  isn't  an  abler  lawyer,  and  you 
also  know  he's  honest.  If  there's  any  way  of  breaking  the  will, 
he'll  tell  you  about  it." 

Hiram  Ranger's  son  now  had  the  look  of  his  real  self 
emerging  from  the  subsiding  fumes  of  his  debauch  of  folly  and 
fury.  "  Thank  you,  Hargrave,"  he  said.  "  You  are  right." 

"  Go  straight  off,"  advised  Dory.  "  Go  before  you've  said 
anything  to  your  mother  about  what  you  intend  to  do.  And 
please  let  me  say  one  thing  more.  Suppose  you  do  finally  decide 
to  make  this  contest.  It  means  a  year,  two  years,  three  years, 
perhaps  five  or  six,  perhaps  ten  or  more,  of  suspense,  of  de 
grading  litigation,  with  the  best  of  you  shriveling,  with  your 
abilities  to  do  for  yourself  paralyzed.  If  you  finally  lose — you'll 
owe  those  Chicago  sharks  an  enormous  sum  of  money,  and  you'll 
be  embittered  and  blighted  for  life.  If  you  win,  they  and  their 
pals  will  have  most  of  the  estate;  you  will  have  little  but  the 
barren  victory;  and  you  will  have  lost  your  mother.  For, 
Arthur,  if  you  try  to  prove  that  your  father  was  insane, 
and  cut  off  his  family  in  insane  anger,  you  know  it  will  kill 
-her." 

A  long  silence ;  then  Arthur  moved  toward  the  steps  leading 
down  to  the  drive.  "I'll  think  it  over,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  very 
different  from  any  he  had  used  before. 

Dory  watched  him  depart  with  an  expression  of  friendship 
and  admiration.  "  He's  going  to  Judge  Torrey,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  Scratch  that  veneer  of  his,  and  you  find  his  mother 
and  father." 

The  old  judge  received  Arthur  like  a  son,  listened  sym 
pathetically  as  the  young  man  gave  him  in  detail  the  inter 
view  with  Dawson.  Even  as  Arthur  recalled  and  related,  he 
himself  saw  Dawson's  duplicity;  for,  that  past  master  of  craft 
had  blundered  into  the  commonest  error  of  craft  of  all  degrees — 
he  had  underestimated  the  intelligence  of  the  man  he  was  try 
ing  to  cozen.  He,  rough  in  dress  and  manners  and  regarding 
"  dudishness  "  as  unfailing  proof  of  weak-mindedness,  had  set 
down  the  fashionable  Arthur,  with  his  Harvard  accent  and  his 
ignorance  of  affairs,  as  an  unmitigated  ass.  He  had  overlooked 

152 


BUT    IS    RESCUED 


the  excellent  natural  mind  which  false  education  and  foolish 
associations  had  tricked  out  in  the  motley,  bells  and  bauble 
of  "  culture  " ;  and  so,  he  had  taken  no  pains  to  cozen  artis 
tically.  Also,  as  he  thought  greediness  the  strongest  and  hardi 
est  passion  in  all  human  beings,  because  it  was  so  in  himself, 
he  had  not  the  slightest  fear  that  anyone  or  anything  could 
deflect  his  client  from  pursuing  the  fortune  which  dangled,  or 
seemed  to  dangle,  tantalizingly  near. 

Arthur,  recalling  the  whole  interview,  was  accurate  where 
he  had  been  visionary,  intelligent  where  he  had  been  dazed. 
He  saw  it  all,  before  he  was  half  done ;  he  did  not  need  Torrey's 
ejaculated  summary:  "The  swindling  scoundrel!"  to  confirm 
him. 

"  You  signed  the  note?  "  said  the  judge. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Arthur.  He  laughed  with  the  frankness  of 
self-derision  that  augurs  so  well  for  a  man's  teachableness. 

"  He  must  have  guessed,"  continued  the  judge,  "  that  a 
contest  is  useless." 

At  that  last  word  Arthur  changed  expression,  changed  color 
— or,  rather,  lost  all  color.  "  Useless?"  he  repeated,  so  over 
whelmed  that  he  clean  forgot  pride  of  appearances  and  let  his 
feelings  have  full  play  in  his  face.  Useless!  A  contest  useless. 
Then 

"  I  did  have  some  hopes,"  interrupted  Judge  Torrey's  delib 
erate,  judicial  tones,  "  but  I  had  to  give  them,  up  after  I  talked 
with  Schulze  and  President  Hargrave.  Your  father  may  have 
been  somewhat  precipitate,  Arthur,  but  he  was  sane  when  he 
made  that  will.  He  believed  his  wealth  would  be  a  curse 
to  his  children.  And —  I  ain't  at  all  sure  he  wasn't  right. 
As  I  look  round  this  town,  this  whole  country,  and  see  how 
the  second  generation  of  the  rich  is  rotten  with  the  money- 
cancer,  I  feel  that  your  grand,  wise  father  had  one  of  the  visions 
that  come  only  to  those  who  are  about  to  leave  the  world  and 
have  their  eyes  cleared  of  the  dust  of  the  combat,  and  their 
minds  cooled  of  its  passions."  Here  the  old  man  leaned  few- 
ward  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  knee  of  the  white,  haggard  youth. 
"  Arthur,"  he  went  on,  "  your  father's  mind  may  have  been 
11  153 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

befogged  by  his  affections  in  the  years  when  he  was  letting  his 
children  do  as  they  pleased,  do  like  most  children  of  the  rich. 
And  his  mind  may  have  been  befogged  by  his  affections  again, 
after  he  made  that  will  and  went  down  into  the  Dark  Valley. 
But,  I  tell  you,  boy,  he  was  sane  when  he  made  that  will.  He 
was  saner  than  most  men  have  the  strength  of  mind  to  be  on 
the  best  day  of  their  whole  lives." 

Arthur  was  sitting  with  elbows  on  the  desk;  his  face  stared 
out,  somber  and  gaunt,  from  between  his  hands.  "  How  much 
he  favors  his  father,"  thought  the  old  judge.  "  What  a  pity 
it  don't  go  any  deeper  than  looks."  But  the  effect  of  the  re 
semblance  was  sufficient  to  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  offer 
any  empty  phrases  of  cheer  and  consolation.  After  a  long  time 
the  hopeless,  dazed  expression  slowly  faded  from  the  young 
man's  face;  in  its  place  came  a  calm,  inscrutable  look.  The 
irresponsible  boy  was  dead;  the  man  had  been  born — in  ran 
corous  bitterness,  but  in  strength  and  decision. 

It  was  the  man  who  said,  as  he  rose  to  depart,  "  I'll  write 
Dawson  that  I've  decided  to  abandon  the  contest." 

"  Ask  him  to  return  the  note,"  advised  Torrey.  "  But," 
he  added,  "  I  doubt  if  he  will." 

"  He  won't,"  said  Arthur.  "  And  I'll  not  ask  him.  Any 
how,  a  few  dollars  would  be  of  no  use  to  me.  I'd  only  pro 
long  the  agony  of  getting  down  to  where  I've  got  to  go." 

"  Five  thousand  dollars  is  right  smart  of  money,"  protested 
the  judge.  "  On  second  thought,  I  guess  you'd  better  let  me 
negotiate  with  him."  The  old  man's  eyes  were  sparkling  with 
satisfaction  in  the  phrases  that  were  forming  in  his  mind  for 
'the  first  letter  to  Dawson. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Arthur.  But  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
not  interested.  "  I  must  put  the  past  behind  me,"  he  went  on 
presently.  "  I  mustn't  think  of  it." 

"  After  all,"  suggested  Torrey,  "  you're  not  as  bad  off  as 
more  than  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  the  young  men.  You're 
just  where  they  are — on  bed  rock.  And  you've  got  the  ad 
vantage  of  your  education." 

Arthur  smiled  satirically.  "  The  tools  I  learned  to  use  at 

154 


BUT    IS    RESCUED 


college,"  said  he,  "  aren't  the  tools  for  the  Crusoe  Island  I've 
been  cast  away  on." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  a  college  don't  ruin  a  young  chap  with  the 
right  stuff  in  him,  even  if  it  don't  do  him  any  great  sight  of 
good."  He  looked  uneasily  at  Arthur,  then  began:  "  If  you'd 
like  to  study  law  " — as  if  he  feared  the  offer  would  be  accepted, 
should  he  make  it  outright. 

"  No ;  thank  you,  I've  another  plan,"  replied  Arthur,  though 
"  plan "  would  have  seemed  to  Judge  Torrey  a  pretentious 
name  for  the  hazy  possibilities  that  were  beginning  to  gather  in 
the  remote  corners  of  his  mind. 

"  I  supposed  you  wouldn't  care  for  the  law,"  said  Torrey, 
relieved  that  his  faint  hint  of  a  possible  offer  had  not  got  him 
into  trouble.  He  liked  Arthur,  but  estimated  him  by  his  accent 
and  his  dress,  and  so  thought  him  probably  handicapped  out  of 
the  running  by  those  years  of  training  for  a  career  of  polite  use- 
lessness.  "That  East!"  he  said  to  himself,  looking  pityingly 
at  the  big,  stalwart  youth  in  the  elaborate  fopperies  of  fashion 
able  mourning.  "That  damned  East!  We  send  it  most  of 
our  money  and  our  best  young  men ;  and  what  do  we  get  from 
it  in  return?  Why,  sneers  and  snob-ideas."  However,  he 
tried  to  change  his  expression  to  one  less  discouraging;  but  his 
face  could  not  wholly  conceal  his  forebodings.  "  It's  lucky  for 
the  boy,"  he  reflected,  "  that  Hiram  left  him  a  good  home  as 
long  as  his  mother's  alive.  After  she's  gone — and  the  five 
thousand,  if  I  get  it  back — I  suppose  he'll  drop  down  and  dowrn, 
and  end  by  clerking  it  somewhere."  With  a  survey  of  Arthur's 
fashionable  attire,  "  I  should  say  he  might  do  fairly  well  in  a 
gent's  furnishing  store  in  one  of  those  damn  cities."  The  old 
man  was  not  unfeeling — far  from  it;  he  had  simply  been  edu 
cated  by  long  years  of  experience  out  of  any  disposition  to 
exaggerate  the  unimportant  in  the  facts  of  life.  "  He'll  be 
better  off  and  more  useful  as  a  clerk  than  he  would  be  as  a 
pattern  of  damnfoolishness  and  snobbishness.  So,  Hiram  was 
right  anyway  I  look  at  it,  and  no  matter  how  it  comes  out. 
But — it  did  take  courage  to  make  that  wrill !  " 

"  Well,  good  day,  judge,"  Arthur  was  saying,  to  end  both 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

their  reveries.  "  I  must,"  he  laughed  curtly,  "  '  get  a  move 
on.'  " 

"  Good  day,  and  God  bless  you,  boy,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  hearty  earnestness  that,  for  the  moment,  made  Arthur's 
eyes  less  hard.  "  Take  your  time,  settling  on  what  to  do. 
Don't  be  in  a  hurry." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Arthur.  "I'm  going  to  make  up 
my  mind  at  once.  Nothing  stales  so  quickly  as  a  good  reso 
lution." 


,156 


CHAPTER   XIV 

SIMEON 

CRISIS  does  not  create  character,  but  is  simply 
its  test.  The  young  man  who  entered  the  gates 
of  No.  64  Jefferson  Street  at  five  that  after 
noon  was  in  all  respects  he  who  left  them  at 
a  quarter  before  four,  though  he  seemed  very 
different  to  himself.  He  went  direct  to  his  own 
room  and  did  not  descend  until  the  supper  bell  sounded — that 
funny  little  old  jangling  bell  he  and  Del  had  striven  to  have 
abolished  in  the  interests  of  fashionable  progress,  until  they 
learned  that  in  many  of  the  best  English  houses  it  is  a  custom 
as  sacredly  part  of  the  ghostly  British  Constitution  as  the 
bathless  bath  of  the  basin,  as  the  jokeless  joke  of  the  pun,  as 
the  entertainment  that  entertains  not,  as  the  ruler  that  rules  not 
and  the  freedom  that  frees  not.  When  he  appeared  in  the  din 
ing-room  door,  his  mother  and  Del  were  already  seated.  His 
mother,  her  white  face  a  shade  whiter,  said:  "  I  expect  you'd 
better  sit — there."  She  neither  pointed  nor  looked,  but  they 
understood  that  she  meant  Hiram's  place.  It  was  her  formal 
announcement  of  her  forgiveness  and  of  her  recognition  of  the 
new  head  of  the  family.  With  that  in  his  face  that  gave  Ade 
laide  a  sense  of  the  ending  of  a  tension  within  her,  he  seated 
himself  where  his  father  had  always  sat. 

It  was  a  silent  supper,  each  one  absorbed  in  thoughts  which 
could  not  have  been  uttered,  no  one  able  to  find  any  subject 
that  would  not  make  overwhelming  the  awful  sense  of  the  one 
that  was  not  there  and  never  again  would  be.  Mrs.  Ranger 
spoke  once.  "  How  did  you  find  Janet?  "  she  said  to  Arthur. 
His  face  grew  red,  with  gray  underneath.  After  a  pause 

157 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

he  answered:  "Very  well."  Another  pause,  then:  "Our  en 
gagement  is  broken  off." 

Mrs.  Ranger  winced  and  shrank.  She  knew  how  her  ques 
tion  and  the  effort  of  that  answer  must  have  hurt  the  boy;  but 
she  did  not  make  matters  worse  with  words.  Indeed,  she  would 
have  been  unable  to  say  anything,  for  sympathy  would  have 
been  hypocritical,  and  hypocrisy  was  with  her  impossible.  She 
thought  Arthur  loved  Janet ;  she  realized,  too,  the  savage  wound 
to  his  pride  in  losing  her  just  at  this  time.  But  she  had  never 
liked  her,  and  now  felt  justified  in  that  secret  and,  so  she  had 
often  reproached  herself,  unreasonable  dislike;  and  she  pro 
ceeded  to  hate  her,  the  first  time  she  had  ever  hated  anybody — 
to  hate  her  as  a  mother  can  hate  one  who  has  made  her  child 
suffer. 

After  supper,  Mrs.  Ranger  plunged  into  the  household 
duties  that  were  saving  her  from  insanity.  Adelaide  and  Arthur 
went  to  the  side  veranda.  When  Arthur  had  lighted  a  cigar 
ette,  he  looked  at  it  with  a  grim  smile — it  was  astonishing  how 
much  stronger  and  manlier  his  face  was,  all  in  a  few  hours. 
"  I'm  on  my  last  thousand  of  these,"  said  he.  "  After  them, 
no  more  cigarettes." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that!  "  said  Adelaide.  "  We're 
still  comfortable,  and  long  before  you  could  feel  any  change, 
you'll  be  making  plenty  of  money." 

"  I'm  going  to  work — next  Monday — at  the  mills." 

Adelaide  caught  her  breath,  beamed  on  him.  "  I  knew  you 
would !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  knew  you  were  brave." 

"Brave!"  He  laughed  disagreeably.  "Like  the  fellow 
that  faces  the  fight  because  a  bayonet's  pricking  his  back.  I 
can't  go  away  somewhere  and  get  a  job,  for  there's  nothing  I 
can  do.  I've  got  to  stay  right  here.  I've  got  to  stare  this 
town  out  of  countenance.  I've  got  to  get  it  used  to  the  idea 
of  me  as  a  common  workingman  with  overalls  and  a  dinner 
pail." 

She  saw  beneath  his  attempt  to  make  light  of  the  situation 
a  deep  and  cruel  humiliation.  He  was  looking  forward  to  the 
keenest  torture  to  which  a  man  trained  in  vanity  to  false 

158 


SIMEON 


ideals  can  be  subjected;  and  the  thing  itself,  so  Adelaide  was 
thinking,  would  be  more  cruel  than  his  writhing  anticipation 
of  it. 

"  Still,"  she  insisted  to  him,  "  you  are  brave.  You  might 
have  borrowed  of  mother  and  gone  off  to  make  one  failure 
after  another  in  gentlemanly  attempts.  You  might  have  " — 
she  was  going  to  say,  "  tried  to  make  a  rich  marriage,"  but 
stopped  herself  in  time.  "  Oh,  I  forgot,"  she  said,  instead, 
"  there's  the  five  thousand  dollars.  Why  not  spend  it  in  study 
ing  law — or  something?  " 

"  I've  lost  my  five  thousand,"  he  replied.  "  I  paid  it  for 
a  lesson  that  was  cheap  at  the  price."  Then,  thoughtfully, 
"  I've  dropped  out  of  the  class  '  gentleman  '  for  good  and  all." 

"  Or  into  it,"  suggested  she. 

He  disregarded  this ;  he  knew  it  was  an  insincerity — one  of 
the  many  he  and  Del  were  now  trying  to  make  themselves 
believe  against  the  almost  hopeless  handicap  of  the  unbelief 
they  had  acquired  as  part  of  their  "  Eastern  culture."  He 
went  on :  "  There's  one  redeeming  feature  of  the — the  situ 
ation." 

"Only  one?" 

"  And  that  for  you,"  he  said.  "  At  least,  you've  got  a  small 
income." 

"  But  I  haven't,"  she  replied.  "  Dory  made  me  turn  it  over 
to  mother." 

Arthur  stared.     "Dory!" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  nod  and  a  smile.  It  would 
have  given  Dory  a  surprise,  a  vastly  different  notion  as  to  what 
she  thought  of  him,  had  he  seen  her  unawares  just  then. 

"Made  you?" 

"  Made,"  she  repeated. 

"And  you  did  it?  " 

"  I've  promised  I  will." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  just  know,"  was  her  slow  reply. 

"  Because  he  was  afraid  it  might  make  bad  blood  between 
you  and  me?  " 

159 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  That  was  one  of  the  reasons  he  urged,"  she  admitted. 
"  But  he  thought,  too,  it  would  be  bad  for  him  and  me." 

A  long  silence.  Then  Arthur:  "  Del,  I  almost  think  you're 
not  making  such  a  mistake  as  I  feared,  in  marrying  him." 

"  So  do  I — sometimes,"  was  his  sister's,  to  him,  astonishing 
answer,  in  an  absent,  speculative  tone. 

Arthur  withheld  the  question  that  was  on  his  lips.  He 
looked  curiously  at  the  small  graceful  head,  barely  visible  in 
the  deepening  twilight.  "  She's  a  strange  one,"  he  reflected. 
"  I  don't  understand  her —  and  I  doubt  if  she  understands 
herself." 

And  that  last  was  very  near  to  the  truth.  Everyone  has 
a  reason  for  everything  he  does ;  but  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
he  always  knows  that  reason,  or  even  could  extricate  it  from 
the  tangle  of  motives,  real  and  reputed,  behind  any  given  act. 
This  self-ignorance  is  less  common  among  men  than  among 
women,  with  their  deliberate  training  to  self-consciousness  and 
to  duplicity;  it  is  most  common  among  those — men  as  well  as 
women — who  think  about  themselves  chiefly.  And  Adelaide, 
having  little  to  think  about  when  all  her  thinking  was  hired 
out,  had  of  necessity  thought  chiefly  about  herself. 

"You  guessed  that  Janet  has  thrown  me  over?"  Arthur 
said,  to  open  the  way  for  relieving  his  mind. 

Adelaide  made  a  gallant  effort,  and  her  desire  to  console 
him  conquered  her  vanity.  "  Just  as  Ross  threw  me  over,"  she 
replied,  with  a  successful  imitation  of  indifference. 

Instead  of  being  astonished  at  the  news,  Arthur  was  aston 
ished  at  his  not  having  guessed  it.  His  first  sensation  was  the 
very  human  one  of  pleasure — the  feeling  that  he  had  companion 
ship  in  humiliation.  He  moved  closer  to  her,  Then  came  an 
instinct,  perhaps  true,  perhaps  false,  that  she  was  suffering,  that 
Ross  had  wounded  her  cruelly,  that  she  was  not  so  calm  as  her 
slim,  erect  figure  seemed  in  the  deep  dusk.  He  burst  out  in 
quiet,  intense  fury:  "Del,  I'll  make  those  two  wish  to  God 
they  hadn't!" 

"  You  can't  do  it,  Artie,"  she  replied.  "  The  only  power 
on  earth  that  can  do  them  up  is  themselves."  She  paused  to 

160 


SIMEON 


vent  the  laugh  that  was  as  natural  in  the  circumstances  as  it 
was  unpleasant  to  hear.  "  And  I  think  they'll  do  it,"  she  went 
on,  "  without  any  effort  on  your  part — or  mine." 

"  You  do  not  hate  them  as  I  do,"  said  he. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  a  good  hater,"  she  answered.  "  I 
admit  I've  got  a  sore  spot  where  he — struck  me.  But  as  far 
as  he's  concerned,  I  honestly  believe  I'm  already  feeling  a  little 
bit  obliged  to  him." 

"  Naturally,"  said  he  in  a  tone  that  solicited  confidences. 
"  Haven't  you  got  what  you  really  wanted?  " 

But  his  sister  made  no  reply. 

"  Look  here,  Del,"  he  said  after  waiting  in  vain,  "  if  you 
don't  want  to  marry,  there's  no  reason  why  you  should.  You'll 
soon  see  I'm  not  as  good-for-nothing  as  some  people  imagine." 

"What  makes  you  think  I  don't  want  to  marry?"  asked 
Adelaide,  her  face  completely  hid  by  the  darkness,  her  voice 
betraying  nothing. 

"  Why,  what  you've  been  saying — or,  rather,  what  you've 
not  been  saying." 

A  very  long  silence,  then  out  of  the  darkness  came  Adelaide's 
voice,  even,  but  puzzling.  "  Well,  Artie,  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  marry.  I've  got  to  do  something,  and  Dory'll  give 
me  something  to  do.  If  I  sat  about  waiting,  waiting,  and  think 
ing,  thinking,  I  should  do — something  desperate.  I've  got  to 
get  away  from  myself.  I've  got  to  forget  myself.  I've  got 
to  get  a  new  self." 

"  Just  as  I  have,"  said  Arthur. 

Presently  he  sat  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  reached  out 
for  her  hand  which  wTas  seeking  his. 

"When  Hiram  was  first  stricken,  Adelaide's  Simeon  had  in 
stalled  himself  as  attendant-in-chief.  The  others  took  turns 
at  nursing;  Simeon  was  on  duty  every  hour  of  ever}-  twenty- 
four.  He  lost  all  interest  in  Adelaide,  in  everything  except  the 
sick  man.  Most  of  the  time  he  sat  quietly,  gazing  at  the  huge, 
helpless  object  of  his  admiration  as  if  fascinated.  Whenever 
Hiram  deigned  to  look  at  him,  he  chattered  softly,  timidly  ap- 

161 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

preached,  retreated,  went  through  all  his  tricks,  watching  the 
while  for  some  sign  of  approval.  The  first  week  or  so,  Hiram 
simply  tolerated  the  pathetic  remembrancer  to  human  humility 
because  he  did  not  wish  to  chagrin  his  daughter.  But  it  is 
not  in  nature  to  resist  a  suit  so  meek,  so  persistent,  and  so  un- 
asking  as  Simeon's.  Soon  Hiram  liked  to  have  his  adorer  on 
his  knee,  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  on  the  table  beside  him ;  occa 
sionally  he  moved  his  unsteady  hand  slowly  to  Simeon's  head 
to  give  it  a  pat.  And  in  the  long  night  hours  of  wakefulness 
there  came  to  be  a  soothing  companionship  in  the  sound  of 
Simeon's  gentle  breathing  in  the  little  bed  at  the  head  of  his 
bed ;  for  Simeon  would  sleep  nowhere  else. 

The  shy  races  of  mankind,  those  that  hide  their  affections 
and  rarely  give  them  expression,  are  fondest  of  domestic  ani 
mals,  because  to  them  they  can  show  themselves  without  fear 
of  being  laughed  at  or  repulsed.  But  it  happened  that  Hiram 
had  never  formed  a  friendship  with  a  dog.  In  his  sickness 
and  loneliness,  he  was  soon  accepting  and  returning  Simeon's 
fondness  in  kind.  And  at  the  time  when  a  man  must  re-value 
everything  in  life  and  put  a  proper  estimate  upon  it,  this  un 
selfish,  incessant,  wholly  disinterested  love  of  poor  Simeon's 
gave  him  keen  pleasure  and  content.  After  the  stroke  that 
entombed  him,  some  subtle  instinct  seemed  to  guide  Simeon 
when  to  sit  and  sympathize  at  a  distance,  when  to  approach 
and  give  a  gentle  caress,  with  tears  running  from  his  eyes. 
But  the  death  Simeon  did  not  understand  at  all.  Those  who 
came  to  make  the  last  arrangements  excited  him  to  fury.  Ade 
laide  had  to  lock  him  in  her  dressing  room  until  the  funeral 
was  over.  When  she  released  him,  he  flew  to  the  room  where 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  sit  with  his  great  and  good  friend. 
No  Hiram!  He  ran  from  room  to  room,  chattering  wildly, 
made  the  tour  of  gardens  and  outbuildings,  returned  to  the 
room  in  which  his  quest  had  started.  He  seemed  dumb  with 
despair.  He  had  always  looked  ludicrously  old  and  shriveled ; 
his  appearance  now  became  tragic.  He  would  start  up  from 
hours  of  trancelike  motionlessness,  would  make  a  tour  of  house 
and  grounds;  scrambling  and  shambling  from  place  to  place; 

162 


SIMEON 


chattering  at  doors  he  could  not  open,  then  pausing  to  listen; 
racing  to  the  front  fence  and  leaping  to  its  top  to  crane  up  and 
down  the  street ;  always  back  in  the  old  room  in  a  few  minutes, 
to  resume  his  watch  and  wait.  He  would  let  no  one  but  Ade 
laide  touch  him,  and  he  merely  endured  her;  good  and  loving 
though  she  seemed  to  be,  he  felt  that  she  was  somehow  respon 
sible  for  the  mysterious  vanishing  of  his  god  while  she  had  him 
shut  away. 

Sometimes  in  the  dead  of  night,  Adelaide  or  Arthur  or  Mrs. 
Ranger,  waking,  would  hear  him  hurrying  softly,  like  a  ghost, 
along  the  halls  or  up  and  down  the  stairs.  They,  with  the 
crowding  interests  that  compel  the  mind,  no  matter  how  fiercely 
the  bereaved  heart  may  fight  against  intrusion,  would  forget 
for  an  hour  now  and  then  the  cause  of  the  black  shadow  over 
them  and  all  the  house  and  all  the  world;  and  as  the  weeks 
passed  their  grief  softened  and  their  memories  of  the  dead  man 
began  to  give  them  that  consoling  illusion  of  his  real  presence. 
But  not  Simeon;  he  could  think  only  that  his  friend  had  been 
there  and  was  gone. 

At  last  the  truth  in  some  form  must  have  come  to  him. 
For  he  gave  up  the  search  and  the  hope,  and  lay  down  to  die. 
Food  he  would  not  touch ;  he  neither  moved  nor  made  a  sound. 
When  Adelaide  took  him  up,  he  lifted  dim  tragic  eyes  to  her 
for  an  instant,  then  sank  back  as  if  asleep.  One  morning,  they 
found  him  in  Hiram's  great  arm  chair,  huddled  in  its  depths, 
his  head  upon  his  knees,  his  hairy  hands  stiff  against  his  cheeks. 
They  buried  him  in  the  clump  of  lilac  bushes  of  which  Hiram 
.had  been  especially  fond. 

Stronger  than  any  other  one  influence  for  good  upon  Ade 
laide  and  Arthur  at  that  critical  time,  was  this  object  lesson 
Simeon  gave — Simeon  with  his  single-hearted  sorrow  and  single- 
minded  love. 


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CHAPTER   XV 

EARLY   ADVENTURES   OF   A   'PRENTICE 

RTHUR,  about  to  issue  forth  at  a  quarter  to 
seven  on  Monday  morning  to  begin  work  as 
a  cooper's  apprentice,  felt  as  if  he  would  find 
all  Saint  X  lined  up  to  watch  him  make  the 
journey  in  working  clothes.  He  had  a  bold 
front  as  he  descended  the  lawn  toward  the 
gates;  but  at  the  risk  of  opening  him  to  those  with  no  sympa 
thy  for  weaknesses  other  than  their  own,  and  for  their  own 
only  in  themselves,  it  must  be  set  down  that  he  seemed  to  him 
self  to  be  shaking  and  skulking.  He  set  his  teeth  together* 
gave  himself  a  final  savage  cut  with  the  lash  of  "  What  a 
damned  coward  I  am !  "  and  closed  the  gate  behind  him  and 
was  in  the  street — a  workingman.  He  did  not  realize  it,  but 
he  had  shown  his  mettle;  for,  no  man  with  any  real  cowardice 
anywhere  in  him  would  have  passed  through  that  gate  and 
faced  a  world  that  loves  to  sneer. 

From  the  other  big  houses  of  that  prosperous  neighbor 
hood  were  coming,  also  in  working  clothes,  the  fathers,  and 
occasionally  the  sons,  of  families  he  was  accustomed  to  regard 
as  "  all  right — for  Saint  X."  At  the  corner  of  Cherry  Lane, 
old  Bolingbroke,  many  times  a  millionaire  thanks  to  a  thriv 
ing  woolen  factory,  came  up  behind  him  and  cried  out,  "  Well, 
young  man!  This  is  something  like."  In  his  enthusiasm  he 
put  his  arm  through  Arthur's.  "  As  soon  as  I  read  your 
father's  will,  I  made  one  myself,"  he  continued  as  they  hur 
ried  along  at  Bolingbroke's  always  furious  speed.  "  I  always 
did  have  my  boys  at  work ;  I  send  'em  down  half  an  hour  before 
me  every  morning.  But  it  occurred  to  me  they  might  bury 


EARLY  ADVENTURES   OF   A    'PRENTICE 

their  enthusiasm  in  the  cemetery  along  with  me."  He  gave  his 
crackling,  snapping  laugh  that  was  strange  and  even  startling 
in  itself,  but  seemed  the  natural  expression  of  his  snapping  eyes 
and  tight-curling,  wiry  whiskers  and  hair.  "  So  I  fixed  up  my 
will.  No  pack  of  worthless  heirs  to  make  a  mockery  of  my 
life  and  teachings  after  I'm  gone.  No,  sir-ee!" 

Arthur  was  more  at  ease.  "  Appearances  "  were  no  longer 
against  him — distinctly  the  reverse.  He  wondered  that  his 
vanity  could  have  made  him  overlook  the  fact  that  what  he 
was  about  to  do  was  as  much  the  regular  order  in  prosperous 
Saint  X,  throughout  the  West  for  that  matter,  as  posing  as  a 
European  gentleman  was  the  regular  order  of  the  "  upper 
classes  "  of  New  York  and  Boston — and  that  even  there  the 
European  gentleman  was  a  recent  and  rather  rare  importation. 
And  Bolingbroke's  hearty  admiration,  undeserved  though  Ar 
thur  felt  it  to  be,  put  what  he  thought  was  nerve  into  him 
and  stimulated  wrhat  he  then  regarded  as  pride.  "  After  all, 
I'm  not  really  a  common  workman,"  reflected  he.  "  It's  like 
mother  helping  Mary."  And  he  felt  still  better  when,  passing 
the  little  millinery  shop  of  "  Wilmot  &  Company  "  arm  in 
arm  with  the  great  woolen  manufacturer,  he  saw  Estelle  Wil 
mot — sweeping  out.  Estelle  would  have  looked  like  a  story 
book  princess  about  royal  business,  had  she  been  down  on  her 
knees  scrubbing  a  sidewalk.  He  was  glad  she  didn't  happen  to 
see  him,  but  he  was  gladder  that  he  had  seen  her.  Clearly,  toil 
wras  beginning  to  take  on  the  appearance  of  "  good  form." 

He  thought  pretty  well  of  himself  all  that  day.  Howells 
treated  him  like  the  proprietor's  son;  Pat  Waugh,  foreman  of 
the  cooperage,  put  "  Mr.  Arthur "  or  "  Mr.  Ranger "  into 
every  sentence ;  the  workingmen  addressed  him  as  "  sir,"  and 
seemed  to  appreciate  his  talking  as  affably  with  them  as  if  he 
were  unaware  of  the  precipice  of  caste  which  stretched  from 
him  down  to  them.  He  was  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  as 
he  wrent  home  and  bathed  and  dressed  for  dinner.  And,  while 
he  knew  he  had  really  been  in  the  way  at  the  cooperage  and 
had  earned  nothing,  yet — his  ease  about  his  social  status  per 
mitting — he  felt  a  sense  of  self-respect  which  was  of  an  en- 

165 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

tirely  new  kind,  and  had  the  taste  of  the  fresh  air  of  a  keen, 
clear  winter  day. 

This,  however,  could  not  last.  The  estate  was  settled  up ; 
the  fiction  that  he  was  of  the  proprietorship  slowly  yielded  to 
the  reality;  the  men,  not  only  those  over  him  but  also  those  on 
whose  level  he  was  supposed  to  be,  began  to  judge  him  as  a 
man.  "  The  boys  say,"  growled  Waugh  to  Howells,  "  that 
he  acts  like  one  of  them  damn  spying  dude  sons  proprietors 
sometimes  puts  in  among  the  men  to  learn  how  to  work  'em 
harder  for  less.  He  don't  seem  to  catch  on  that  he's  got  to 
get  his  money  out  of  his  own  hands." 

"  Touch  him  up  a  bit,"  said  Howells,  who  had  worshiped 
Hiram  Ranger  and  in  a  measure  understood  what  had  been 
'in  his  mind  when  he  dedicated  his  son  to  a  life  of  labor.  "If 
it  becomes  absolutely  necessary  I'll  talk  to  him.  But  maybe 
you  can  do  the  trick." 

Waugh,  who  had  the  useful  man's  disdain  of  deliberately 
useless  men  and  the  rough  man's  way  of  feeling  it  and  show 
ing  it,  was  not  slow  to  act  on  Howells's  license.  That  very 
day  he  found  Arthur  unconsciously  and  even  patronizingly 
shirking  the  tending  of  a  planer  so  that  his  teacher,  Bud 
Rollins,  had  to  do  double  work.  Waugh  watched  this  until 
it  had  "  riled  "  him  sufficiently  to  loosen  his  temper  and  his 
language.  "Hi,  there,  Ranger!"  he  shouted.  "What  the 
hell!  You've  been  here  goin'  on  six  months  now,  and  you're 
more  in  the  way  than  you  was  the  first  day." 

Arthur  flushed,  flashed,  clenched  his  fists;  but  the  planer 
was  between  him  and  Waugh,  and  that  gave  Waugh's  tre 
mendous  shoulders  and  fists  a  chance  to  produce  a  subduing 
visual  impression.  A  man,  even  a  young  man,  who  is  nervous 
on  the  subject  of  his  dignity,  will,  no  matter  how  brave  and 
physically  competent,  shrink  from  avoidable  encounter  that 
means  doubtful  battle.  And  dignity  was  a  grave  matter  with 
young  Ranger  in  those  days. 

"  Don't  hoist  your  dander  up  at  me,"  said  Waugh.  "  Get 
it  up  agin'  yourself.  Bud,  next  time  he  soldiers  on  you,  send 
him  to  me." 

1 66 


EARLY  ADVENTURES   OF   A    'PRENTICE 

"  All  right,  sir,"  replied  Bud,  with  a  soothing  grin.  And 
when  Waugh  was  gone,  he  said  to  Arthur,  "  Don't  mind  him. 
Just  keep  pegging  along,  and  you'll  learn  all  right." 

Bud's  was  the  tone  a  teacher  uses  to  encourage  a  defective 
child.  It  stung  Arthur  more  fiercely  than  had  Waugh's.  It 
flashed  on  him  that  the  men — well,  they  certainly  hadn't  been 
looking  up  to  him  as  he  had  been  fondly  imagining.  He  went 
at  his  work  resolutely,  but  blunderingly;  he  spoiled  a  plank 
and  all  but  clogged  the  machine.  His  temper  got  clean  away 
from  him,  and  he  shook  with  a  rage  hard  to  restrain  from 
venting  itself  against  the  inanimate  objects  whose  possessing 
devils  he  could  hear  jeering  at  him  through  the  roar  of  the 
machinery. 

"Steady!  Steady!"  warned  good-natured  Rollins.  "You'll 
drop  a  hand  under  that  knife." 

The  words  had  just  reached  Arthur  when  he  gave  a  sharp 
cry.  With  a  cut  as  clean  as  the  edge  that  made  it,  off  came 
the  little  finger  of  his  left  hand,  and  he  was  staring  at  it  as 
it  lay  upon  the  bed  of  the  planer,  twitching,  seeming  to 
breathe  as  its  blood  pulsed  out,  wThile  the  blood  spurted  from 
his  maimed  hand.  In  an  instant  Lorn*  Tague  had  the 
machine  still. 

"  A  bucket  of  clean  water,"  he  yelled  to  the  man  at  the 
next  planer. 

He  grabbed  dazed  Arthur's  hand,  and  pressed  hard  with 
his  powerful  thumb  and  forefinger  upon  the  edges  of  the 
wound. 

"  A  doctor!  "  he  shouted  at  the  men  crowding  round. 

Arthur  did  not  realize  what  had  happened  until  he  found 
himself  forced  to  his  knees,  his  hand  submerged  in  the  ice- 
cold  water,  Lorry  still  holding  shut  the  severed  veins  and 
arteries. 

"  Another  bucket  of  water,  you,  Bill,"  cried  Lorry. 

When  it  came  he  had  Bill  Johnstone  throw  the  severed 
finger  into  it.  Bud  Rollins,  who  had  jumped  through  the 
window  into  the  street  in  a  dash  for  a  physician,  saw  Doctor 
Schulze's  buggy  just  turning  out  of  High  Street.  He  gave 

167 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

chase,  had  Schulze  beside  Arthur  within  two  minutes.  More 
water,  both  hot  and  cold,  was  brought,  and  a  cleared  work 
bench;  with  swift,  sure  ringers  the  doctor  cleaned  the  stump, 
cleaned  the  severed  finger,  joined  and  sewed  them,  bandaged 
the  hand. 

"  Now,  I'll  take  you  home,"  he  said.  "  I  guess  you've  dis 
tinguished  yourself  enough  for  the  day." 

Arthur  followed  him,  silent  and  meek  as  a  humbled  dog. 
As  they  were  driving  along  Schulze  misread  a  mournful  look 
which  Arthur  cast  at  his  bandaged  hand.  "  It's  nothing — 
nothing  at  all,"  he  said  gruffly.  "  In  a  week  or  less  you  could 
be  back  at  work."  The  accompanying  sardonic  grin  said  plain 
as  print,  "  But  this  dainty  dandy  is  done  with  work." 

Weak  and  done  though  Arthur  was,  some  blood  came  into 
his  pale  face  and  he  bit  his  lip  with  anger. 

Schulze  saw  these  signs. 

"  Several  men  are  killed  every  year  in  those  works — and 
not  through  their  carelessness,  either,"  he  went  on  in  a  milder, 
friendlier  tone.  "  And  forty  or  fifty  are  maimed — not  like 
that  little  pin  scratch  of  yours,  my  dear  Mr.  Ranger,  but  hands 
lost,  legs  lost — accidents  that  make  cripples  for  life.  That 
means  tragedy — not  the  wolf  at  the  door,  but  with  his  snout 
right  in  the  platter." 

"  I've  seen  that,"  said  Arthur.  "  But  I  never  thought 
much  about  it — until  now." 

"  Naturally,"  commented  Schulze,  with  sarcasm.  Then  he 
added  philosophically,  "  And  it's  just  as  well  not  to  bother 
about  it.  Mankind  found  this  world  a  hell,  and  is  trying  to 
make  it  over  into  a  heaven.  And  a  hell  it  still  is,  even  more 
of  a  hell  than  at  first,  and  it'll  be  still  more  of  a  hell — for 
these  machines  and  these  slave-driving  capitalists  with  their 
luxury-crazy  families  are  worse  than  wars  and  aristocrats. 
They  make  the  men  work,  and  the  women  and  the  children 
— make  'em  all  work  as  the  Pharaohs  never  sweated  the 
wretches  they  set  at  building  the  pyramids.  The  nearer  the 
structure  gets  toward  completion,  the  worse  the  driving  and 
the  madder  the  haste.  Some  day  the  world'll  be  worth  living 

1 68 


EARLY  ADVENTURES   OF   A   'PRENTICE 

in — probably  just  about  the  time  it's   going  to  drop   into  the      / 
sun.      Meanwhile,    it's    a    hell    of    a    place.      We're    a    race 
of  slaves,   toiling  for  the  benefit  of  the   race  of  gods   that'll    / 
some   day   be    born   into   a   habitable   world   and   live   happily    | 
ever  afterwards.     Science  will  give   them  happiness — and  im-    j 
mortality,   if   they   lose   the   taste   for   the  adventure  into  the 
Beyond." 

Arthur's  brain  heard  clearly  enough  to  remember  after 
wards;  but  Schulze's  voice  seemed  to  be  coming  through  a 
thick  wall.  When  they  reached  the  Ranger  house,  Schulze  had 
to  lift  him  from  the  buggy  and  support  his  weight  and  guide 
his  staggering  steps.  Out  ran  Mrs.  Ranger,  with  the  terror  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Don't  lose  your  head,  ma'am,"  said  Schulze.  "  It's  only 
a  cut  finger.  The  young  fool  forgot  he  was  steering  a  ma 
chine,  and  had  a  sharp  but  slight  reminder." 

Schulze  was  heavily  down  on  the  "  interesting-invalid " 
habit.  He  held  that  the  world's  supply  of  sympathy  was  so 
imall  that  there  wasn't  enough  to  provide  encouragement  for 
those  working  hard  and  well;  that  those  who  fell  into  the 
traps  of  illness  set  in  folly  by  themselves  should  get,  at  most, 
toleration  in  the  misfortunes  in  which  others  were  compelled 
to  share.  "  The  world  discourages  strength  and  encourages 
weakness,"  he  used  to  declaim.  "  That  injustice  and  cruelty 
must  be  reversed !  " 

"  Doctor  Schulze  is  right,"  Arthur  was  saying  to  his 
mother,  with  an  attempt  at  a  smile.  But  he  was  glad  of  the 
softness  and  ease  of  the  big  divan  in  the  back  parlor,  of  the 
sense  of  hovering  and  protecting  love  he  got  from  his  mother's 
and  Adelaide's  anxious  faces.  Sorer  than  the  really  trifling 
wound  was  the  deep  cut  into  his  vanity.  How  his  fellow- 
workmen  were  pitying  him! — a  poor  blockhead  of  a  bungler 
who  had  thus  brought  to  a  pitiful  climax  his  failure  to  learn  a 
simple  trade.  And  how  the  whole  town  would  talk  and  laugh ! 
"  Hiram  Ranger,  he  begat  a  fool !  " 

Schulze,  with  proper  equipment,  redressed  and  rebandaged 
the  wound,  and  left,  after  cautioning  the  young  man  not  to 
12  169 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

move  the  sick  arm.  "  You'll  be  all  right  to  strum  the  guitai 
and  sport  a  diamond  ring  in  a  fortnight  at  the  outside,"  said 
he.  At  the  door  he  lectured  Adelaide:  "  For  God's  sake,  Miss 
Ranger,  don't  let  his  mother  coddle  him.  He's  got  the  mak 
ings  of  a  man  like  his  father — not  as  big,  perhaps,  but  still  a 
lot  of  a  man.  Give  him  a  chance!  Give  him  a  chance!  If 
this  had  happened  in  a  football  game  or  a  fox-hunt,  nobody 
would  have  thought  anything  of  it.  But  just  because  it  was 
done  at  useful  work,  you've  got  yourself  all  fixed  to  make  a 
fearful  to-do." 

How  absurdly  does  practice  limp  along,  far  behind  firm- 
striding  theory!  Schulze  came  twice  that  day,  looked  in  twice 
the  next  day,  and  fussed  like  a  disturbed  setting-hen  when  his 
patient  forestalled  the  next  day's  visit  by  appearing  at  his  office 
for  treatment.  "  I  want  to  see  if  I  can't  heal  that  cut  without 
a  scar,"  was  his  explanation — but  it  was  a  mere  excuse. 

When  Arthur  called  on  the  fifth  day,  Schulze's  elder 
daughter,  Madelene,  opened  the  door.  "  Will  you  please  tell 
the  doctor,"  said  he,  "  that  the  workman  who  cut  his  finger 
at  the  cooperage  wishes  to  see  him  ?  " 

Madelene's  dark  gray  eyes  twinkled.  She  was  a  tall  and, 
so  he  thought,  rather  severe-looking  young  woman;  her  jet 
black  hair  was  simply,  yet  not  without  a  suspicion  of  coquetry, 
drawn  back  over  her  ears  from  a  central  part — or  what  would 
have  been  a  part  had  her  hair  been  less  thick.  She  was  study 
ing  medicine  under  her  father.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
seen  her,  it  so  happened,  since  she  was  in  knee  dresses  at  public 
school.  As  he  looked  he  thought :  "  A  splendid  advertisement 
for  the  old  man's  business."  Just  why  she  seemed  so  much 
healthier  than  even  the  healthiest,  he  found  it  hard  to  under 
stand.  She  was  neither  robust  nor  radiant.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  singular  clearness  of  her  dead-white  skin  and  of  the  whites 
of  her  eyes ;  again  it  might  have  been  the  deep  crimson  of  her 
lips  and  of  the  inside  of  her  mouth — a  wide  mouth  with  two 
perfect  rows  of  small,  strong  teeth  of  the  kind  that  go  with 
intense  vitality. 

170 


EARLY   ADVENTURES   OF   A    'PRENTICE 

"  Just  wait  here,"  said  she,  in  a  businesslike  tone,  as  she 
indicated  the  reception  room. 

"You  don't  remember  me?"  said  Arthur,  to  detain  her. 

"  No,  I  don't  remember  you,"  replied  Madelene.  "  But  I 
know  who  you  are." 

"  Who  I  was"  thought  Arthur,  his  fall  never  far  from  the 
foreground  of  his  mind.  "  You  used  to  be  very  serious,  and 
always  perfect  in  your  lessons,"  he  continued  aloud,  "  and — 
most  superior." 

Madelene  laughed.  "  I  was  a  silly  little  prig,"  said  she. 
Then,  not  without  a  subtle  hint  of  sarcasm,  "  But  I  suppose 
we  all  go  through  that  period — some  of  us  in  childhood,  others 
further  along." 

Arthur  smiled,  with  embarrassment.  So  he  had  the  repu 
tation  of  being  a  prig. 

Madelene  was  in  the  doorway.  "  Father  wrill  be  free — 
presently,"  said  she.  "  He  has  another  patient  with  him.  If 
you  don't  care  to  wait,  perhaps  I  can  look  after  the  cut. 
Father  said  it  was  a  trifle." 

Arthur  slipped  his  arm  out  of  the  sling. 

"  In  here,"  said  Madelene,  opening  the  door  of  a  small 
room  to  the  left  of  her  father's  consultation  room. 

Arthur  entered.  "  This  is  your  office?"  he  asked,  looking 
round  curiously,  admiringly.  It  certainly  was  an  interesting 
room,  as  the  habitat  of  an  interesting  personality  is  bound  to  be. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.     "  Sit  here,  please." 

Arthur  seated  himself  in  the  chair  by  the  wrindowr  and 
rested  his  arm  on  the  table.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen 
fingers  so  long  as  hers,  or  so  graceful.  Evidently  she  had  in 
herited  from  her  father  that  sure,  firm  touch  which  is  perhaps 
the  highest  talent  of  the  surgeon.  "  It  seems  such  an — an — 
such  a  hard  profession  for  a  woman,"  said  he,  to  induce  those 
fascinating  lips  of  hers  to  move. 

"  It  isn't  soft,"  she  replied.  "  But  then  father  hasn't 
brought  us  up  soft." 

This  wras  discouraging,  but  Arthur  tried  again.  "  You 
like  it?" 

171 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  I  love  it,"  said  she,  and  now  her  eyes  were  a  delight. 
"It  makes  me  hate  to  go  to  bed  at  night,  and  eager  to  get 
up  in  the  morning.  And  that  means  really  living,  doesn't  it?  " 

"  A  man  like  me  must  seem  to  you  a  petty  sort  of  creature." 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  any  professional  haughtiness,"  was  her 
laughing  reply.  "  One  kind  of  work  seems  to  me  just  as  good 
as  another.  It's  the  spirit  of  the  workman  that  makes  the  only 
differences." 

"  That's  it,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  humility  which  he  thought 
genuine  and  which  was  perhaps  not  wholly  false.  "  I  don't 
seem  to  be  able  to  give  my  heart  to  my  work." 

"  I  fancy  you'll  give  it  attention  hereafter,"  suggested 
Madelene.  She  had  dressed  the  almost  healed  finger  and  was 
dexterously  rebandaging  it.  She  was  necessarily  very  near  to 
him,  and  from  her  skin  there  seemed  to  issue  a  perfumed  energy 
that  stimulated  his  nerves.  Their  eyes  met.  Both  smiled  and 
flushed. 

'  That  wasn't  very  kind — that  remark,"  said  he. 

"  What's  all  this?  "  broke  in  the  sharp  voice  of  the  doctor. 

Arthur  started  guiltily,  but  Madelene,  without  lifting  her 
eyes  from  her  task,  answered:  "  Mr.  Ranger  didn't  want  to  b« 
kept  waiting." 

"  She's  trying  to  steal  my  practice  away  from  me!  "  cried 
Schulze.  He  looked  utterly  unlike  his  daughter  at  first 
glance,  but  on  closer  inspection  there  was  an  intimate  resem 
blance,  like  that  between  the  nut  and  its  rough,  needle-armored 
shell.  "  Well,  I  guess  she  hasn't  botched  it."  This  in  a 
pleased  voice,  after  an  admiring  inspection  of  the  workman 
like  bandage.  "  Come  again  to-morrow,  young  man." 

Arthur  bowed  to  Madelene  and  somehow  got  out  into 
the  street.  He  was  astonished  at  himself  and  at  the  world. 
He  had  gone  drearily  into  that  office  out  of  a  dreary  world; 
he  had  issued  forth  light  of  heart  and  delighted  with  the 
fresh,  smiling,  interesting  look  of  the  shaded  streets  and  the 
green  hedges  and  lawns  and  flower  beds.  "  A  fine  old  town," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  Nice,  friendly  people — and  the  really 
right  sort.  As  soon  as  I'm  done  with  the  rough  stretch  I've 

172 


EARLY  ADVENTURES   OF   A   'PRENTICE 

got  just  ahead  of  me,  I'm  going  to  like  it.  Let  me  see — one 
of  those  girls  was  named  Walpurga  and  one  was  named — 
Madelene — this  one,  I'm  sure — Yes!"  And  he  could  hear 
the  teacher  calling  the  roll,  could  hear  the  alto  voice  from  the 
serious  face  answer  to  "  Madelene  Schulze,"  could  hear  the 
light  voice  from  the  face  that  was  always  ready  to  burst  into 
smiles  answer  to  "  Walpurga  Schulze." 

But  though  it  was  quite  unnecessary  he,  with  a  quite  un 
necessary  show  of  carelessness,  asked  Del  which  was  which. 
"  The  black  one  is  Madelene,"  replied  she,  and  her  ability  to 
speak  in  such  an  indifferent  tone  of  such  an  important  per 
son  surprised  him.  "  The  blonde  is  Walpurga.  I  used  to 
detest  Madelene.  She  always  treated  me  as  if  I  hadn't  any 
sense." 

"  Well,  you  can't  blame  her  for  that,  Del,"  said  Arthur. 
"  You've  been  a  great  deal  of  a  fool  in  your  day — before  you 
blossomed  out.  Do  you  remember  the  time  Don-  called 
you  down  for  learning  things  to  show  off,  and  how  furious 
you  got? " 

Adelaide  looked  suddenly  warm,  though  she  laughed  too. 
"Why  did  you  ask  about  Dr.  Schulze's  daughters?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  saw  one  of  them  this  morning — a  beauty,  a  tip- topper. 
And  no  nonsense  about  her.  As  she's  '  black,'  I  suppose  her 
name  is  Madelene." 

"Oh,  I  remember  now!"  exclaimed  Adelaide.  "Made 
lene  is  going  to  be  a  doctor.  They  say  she's  got  nerves  of 
iron — can  cut  and  slash  like  her  father." 

Arthur  was  furious,  just  why  he  didn't  know.  No  doubt 
what  Del  said  was  true,  but  there  were  ways  and  ways  of  say 
ing  things.  "  I  suppose  there  is  some  sneering  at  her,"  said 
he,  "  among  the  girls  who  couldn't  do  anything  if  they  tried. 
It  seems  to  me,  if  there  is  any  profession  a  woman  could 
follow  without  losing  her  womanliness,  it  is  that  of  doctor. 
Every  woman  ought  to  be  a  doctor,  whether  she  ever  tries 
to  make  a  living  out  of  it  or  not." 

Adelaide  was  not  a  little  astonished  by  this  outburst 

173 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  You'll  be  coming  round  to  Dory's  views  of  women,  if  you 
aren't  careful,"  said  she. 

"  There's  a  lot  of  sense  in  what  Dory  says  about  a  lot  of 
things,"  replied  Arthur. 

Del  sheered  off.    "  How  did  the  doctor  say  your  hand  is?  " 

"  Oh — all  right,"  said  Arthur.  "  I'm  going  to  work  on 
Monday." 

"  Did  he  say  you  could  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I'm  tired  of  doing  nothing.  I've  got  to  '  get 
busy '  if  I'm  to  pull  out  of  this  mess." 

His  look,  his  tone  made  his  words  sound  revolutionary. 
And,  in  fact,  his  mood  was  revolutionary.  He  was  puzzled 
at  his  own  change  of  attitude.  His  sky  had  cleared  of  black 
clouds;  the  air  was  no  longer  heavy  and  oppressive.  He 
wanted  to  work;  he  felt  that  by  working  he  could  accomplish 
something,  could  deserve  and  win  the  approval  of  people  who 
were  worth  while — people  like  Madelene  Schulze,  for  instance. 

Next  day  he  lurked  round  the  corner  below  the  doctor's 
house  until  he  saw  him  drive  away ;  then  he  went  up  and  rang 
the  bell.  This  time  it  was  the  "  blonde  "  that  answered — • 
small  and  sweet,  pink  and  white,  with  tawny  hair.  This  was 
disconcerting.  "  I  couldn't  get  here  earlier,"  he  explained.  "  I 
saw  the  doctor  just  driving  away.  But,  as  these  bandages  feel 
uncomfortable,  I  thought  perhaps  his  daughter — your  sister, 
is  she  not? — might — might  fix  them." 

Walpurga  looked  doubtful.  "  I  think  she's  busy,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  like  to  disturb  her." 

Just  then  Madelene  crossed  the  hall.  Her  masses  of  black 
hair  were  rolled  into  a  huge  knot  on  top  of  her  head ;  she  was 
wearing  a  white  work  slip  and  her  arms  were  bare  to  the 
elbows — the  finest  arms  he  had  ever  seen,  Arthur  thought. 
She  seemed  in  a  hurry  and  her  face  was  flushed — she  would 
have  looked  no  differently  if  she  had  heard  his  voice  and  had 
come  forth  to  prevent  his  getting  away  without  having  seen 
him.  "Meg!"  called  her  sister.  "Can  you " 

Madelene  apparently  saw  her  sister  and  Arthur  for  the  first 

174 


EARLY  ADVENTURES   OF   A    'PRENTICE 

time.  "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Ranger.  You've  come  too  late. 
Father's  out." 

Arthur  repeated  his  doleful  tale,  convincingly  now,  for  his 
hand  did  feel  queer — as  what  hand  would  not,  remembering 
such  a  touch  as  Madelene's,  and  longing  to  experience  it 
again  ? 

"Certainly,"  said  Madelene.  "I'll  do  the  best  I  can. 
Come  in." 

And  once  more  he  was  in  her  office,  with  her  bending  over 
him.  And  presently  her  hair  came  unrolled,  came  showering 
down  on  his  arm,  on  his  face;  and  he  shook  like  a  leaf  and 
felt  as  if  he  were  going  to  faint,  into  such  an  ecstasy  did  the 
soft  rain  of  these  tresses  throw  him.  As  for  Madelene,  she 
was  almost  hysterical  in  her  confusion.  She  darted  from  the 
room. 

When  she  returned  she  seemed  calm,  but  that  was  because 
she  did  not  lift  those  tell-tale  gray  eyes.  Neither  spoke  as  she 
finished  her  work.  If  Arthur  had  opened  his  lips  it  would 
have  been  to  say  words  which  he  thought  she  would  resent, 
and  he  repent.  Not  until  his  last  chance  had  almost  ebbed  did 
he  get  himself  sufficiently  in  hand  to  speak.  "  It  wasn't  true 
— what  I  said,"  he  began.  "  I  waited  until  your  father  was 
gone.  Then  I  came — to  see  you.  As  you  probably  know,  I'm 
only  a  workman,  hardly  even  that,  at  the  cooperage,  but — I 
want  to  come  to  see  you.  May  I  ?  " 

She  hesitated. 

"  I  know  the  people  in  this  town  have  a  very  poor  opinion 
of  me,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  deserve  it,  no  doubt.  You  see, 
the  bottom  dropped  out  of  my  life  not  long  ago,  and  I  haven't 
found  myself  yet.  But  you  did  more  for  me  in  ten  minutes 
the  other  day  than  even-thing  and  everybody,  including  my 
self,  have  been  able  to  do  since  my  father  died." 

"  I  don't  remember  that  I  said  anything,"  she  murmured. 

"  I  didn't  say  that  what  you  said  helped  me.  I  said  what 
you  did — and  looked.  And — I'd  like  to  come." 

"  We  never  have  any  callers,"  she  explained.  "  You  see, 
father's — our — views —  People  don't  understand  us.  And, 

175 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

too,  we've  found  ourselves  very  congenial  and  sufficient  unto 
one  another.     So — I — I — don't  know  what  to  say." 

He  looked  so  cast  down  that  she  hastened  on :  "  Yes — 
come  whenever  you  like.  We're  always  at  home.  But  we 
work  all  day." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Arthur.  "  Thank  you.  I'll  come — some 
evening  next  week." 

Suddenly  he  felt  peculiarly  at  ease  with  her,  as  if  he  had 
always  known  her,  as  if  she  and  he  understood  each  other  per 
fectly.  "  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  me  stupid,"  he  went  on.  "  I 
don't  know  much  about  any  of  the  things  you're  interested  in." 

"  Perhaps  I'm  interested  in  more  things  than  you  imagine," 
said  she.  "  My  sister  says  I'm  a  fraud — that  I  really  have  a 
frivolous  mind  and  that  my  serious  look  is  a  hollow  pretense." 

And  so  they  talked  on,  not  getting  better  acquainted  but 
enjoying  the  realization  of  how  extremely  well  acquainted  they 
were.  When  he  was  gone,  Madelene  found  that  her  father 
had  been  in  for  some  time.  "  Didn't  he  ask  for  me?  "  she  said 
to  Walpurga. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Walpurga.  "  And  I  told  him  you  were 
flirting  with  Arthur  Ranger." 

Madelene  colored  violently.  "  I  never  heard  that  word 
in  this  house  before,"  she  said  stiffly. 

"  Nor  I,"  replied  Walpurga,  the  pink  and  white.  "  And  I 
think  it's  high  time— with  you  nearly  twenty-two  and  me 
nearly  twenty." 

At  dinner  her  father  said :  "  Well,  Lena,  so  you've  got  a 
beau  at  last.  I'd  given  up  hope." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  scare  him  away,  father!"  cried 
Walpurga. 

"  A  pretty  poor  excuse,"  pursued  the  doctor.  "  I  doubt 
if  Arthur  Ranger  can  make  enough  to  pay  his  own  board  in 
a  River  Street  lodging  house." 

"  It  took  courage — real  courage — to  go  to  work  as  he  did," 
replied  Madelene,  her  color  high. 

"  Yes,"  admitted  her  father,  "  if  he  sticks  to  it." 

"  He  will  stick  to  it,"  affirmed  Madelene. 

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EARLY  ADVENTURES   OF   A   'PRENTICE 

"  I  think  so,"  assented  her  father,  dropping  his  teasing  pre 
tense  and  coming  out  frankly  for  Arthur.  "  When  a  man 
shows  that  he  has  the  courage  to  cross  the  Rubicon,  there's  no 
need  to  worry  about  whether  he'll  go  on  or  turn  back." 

"  You  mustn't  let  him  know  he's  the  only  beau  you've 
ever  had,  Meg,"  cautioned  her  sister. 

"And  why  not?"  demanded  Madelene.  "If  I  ever  did 
care  especially  for  a  man,  I'd  not  care  for  him  because  other 
women  had.  And  I  shouldn't  want  a  man  to  be  so  weak  and 
vain  as  to  feel  that  way  about  me." 

It  was  a  temptation  to  that  aloof  and  isolated,  yet  anything 
but  lonely  or  lonesome,  household  to  discuss  this  new  and 
strange  phenomenon — the  intrusion  of  an  outsider,  and  he  a 
young  man.  But  the  earnestness  in  Madelene's  voice  made 
her  father  and  her  sister  feel  that  to  tease  her  further  would 
be  impertinent. 

Arthur  had  said  he  would  not  call  until  the  next  week 
because  then  he  would  be  at  work  again.  He  went  once  more 
to  Dr.  Schulze's,  but  was  careful  to  go  in  office  hours.  He  did 
not  see  Madelene — though  she,  behind  the  white  sash  curtains 
of  her  own  office,  saw  him  come,  watched  him  go  until  he  was 
out  of  sight  far  down  the  street.  On  Monday  he  went  to 
work,  really  to  work.  No  more  shame;  no  more  shirking  or 
shrinking;  no  more  lingering  on  the  irrevocable.  He  squarely 
faced  the  future,  and,  with  his  will  like  his  father's,  set  dogged 
and  unconquerable  energy  to  battering  at  the  obstacles  before 
him.  "  All  a  man  needs,"  said  he  to  himself,  at  the  end  of 
the  first  day  of  real  work,  "  is  a  purpose.  He  never  knows 
where  he's  at  until  he  gets  one.  And  once  he  gets  it,  he  can't 
rest  till  he  has  accomplished  it." 

What  was  his  purpose?  He  didn't  know — beyond  a  feel 
ing  that  he  must  lift  himself  from  his  present  position  of  being 
an  object  of  pity  to  all  Saint  X  and  the  sort  of  man  that 
hasn't  the  right  to  ask  any  woman  to  be  his  wife. 


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CHAPTER   XVI 

A   CAST-OFF   SLIPPER 

LARGE  sum  would  soon  be  available;  so  the 
carrying  out  of  the  plans  to  extend,  or,  rather, 
to  construct  Tecumseh,  must  be  begun.  The 
trustees  commissioned  young  Hargrave  to  go 
abroad  at  once  in  search  of  educational  and 
architectural  ideas,  and  to  get  apparatus  that 
would  make  the  laboratories  the  best  in  America.  Chemistry 
and  its  most  closely  related  sciences  were  to  be  the  foundation 
of  the  new  university,  as  they  are  at  the  foundation  of  life. 
"  We'll  model  our  school,  not  upon  what  the  ignorant  wise 
of  the  Middle  Ages  thought  ought  to  be  life,  but  upon  life 
itself,"  said  Dr.  Hargrave.  "  We'll  build  not  from  the  clouds 
down,  but  from  the  ground  up."  He  knew  in  the  broad 
outline  what  was  wanted  for  the  Tecumseh  of  his  dream; 
but  he  felt  that  he  was  too  old,  perhaps  too  rusted  in  old- 
fashioned  ways  and  ideas,  himself  to  realize  the  dream;  so  he 
put  the  whole  practical  task  upon  Dory,  whom  he  had  trained 
from  infancy  to  just  that  end. 

When  it  was  settled  that  Dory  was  to  go,  would  be  away 
a  year  at  the  least,  perhaps  two  years,  he  explained  to  Ade 
laide.  "  They  expect  me  to  leave  within  a  fortnight,"  he 
ended.  And  she  knew  what  was  in  his  mind — what  he  was 
hoping  she  would  say. 

It  so  happened  that,  in  the  months  since  their  engagement, 
an  immense  amount  of  work  had  been  thrust  upon  Dory.  Part 
of  it  was  a  study  of  the  great  American  universities,  and  that 
meant  long  absences  from  home.  All  of  it  was  of  the  kind 
'bat  must  be  done  at  once  or  not  at  all — and  Work  is  the  one 

178 


A    CAST-OFF    SLIPPER 


mistress  who,  if  she  be  enamored  enough  of  a  man  to  resolve 
to  have  him  and  no  other,  can  compel  him,  whether  he  be 
enamored  of  her  or  not.  However,  for  the  beginning  of  the 
artificial  relation  between  this  engaged  couple,  the  chief  cause 
was  not  his  work  but  his  attitude  toward  her,  his  not  unnat 
ural  but  highly  unwise  regard  for  the  peculiar  circumstances 
in  which  they  had  become  engaged.  Respect  for  the  real  feel 
ings  of  others  is  all  very  well,  if  not  carried  too  far;  but  re 
spect  for  the  purely  imaginary  feelings  of  others  simply  en 
courages  them  to  plunge  deeper  into  the  fogs  and  bogs  of  folly. 
There  was  excuse  for  Dory's  withholding  from  his  love  affair 
the  strong  and  firm  hand  he  laid  upon  all  his  other  affairs; 
but  it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  deserved  what  he  got,  or, 
rather,  that  he  failed  to  deserve  what  he  did  not  get.  And 
the  irony  of  it  was  that  his  unselfishness  was  chiefly  to  blame ; 
for  a  selfish  man  would  have  gone  straight  at  Del  and,  with 
Dory's  advantages,  would  have  captured  her  forthwith. 

As  it  was,  she  drifted  aimlessly  through  day  after  day,  keep 
ing  close  at  home,  interested  in  nothing.  She  answered  briefly 
or  not  at  all  the  letters  from  her  old  friends,  and  she  noted 
with  a  certain  blunted  bitterness  how  their  importunities 
fainted  and  died  away,  as  the  news  of  the  change  in  her  for 
tunes  got  round.  If  she  had  been  seeing  them  face  to  face 
every  day,  or  if  she  had  been  persistent  and  tenacious,  they 
would  have  extricated  themselves  less  abruptly;  for  not  the 
least  important  among  the  sacred  "  appearances  "  of  conven 
tionality  is  the  ''appearance"  of  good-heartedness ;  it  is  the 
graceful  cloak  for  that  icy  selfishness  which  is  as  inevitable 
among  the  sheltered  and  pampered  as  sympathy  and  helpful 
ness  are  among  those  naked  to  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  real 
life.  Adelaide  was  far  from  her  friends,  and  she  deliberately 
gave  them  every  opportunity  to  abandon  and  to  forget  her 
without  qualms  or  fears  of  "  appearing  "  mean  and  snobbish. 
There  were  two  girls  from  whom  she  rather  hoped  for  signs 
of  real  friendship.  She  had  sought  them  in  the  first  place 
because  they  were  "  of  the  right  sort,"  but  she  had  come  to 
like  them  for  themselves  and  she  believed  they  liked  her  for 

179 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

herself.  And  so  they  did;  but  their  time  was  filled  with  the 
relentless  routine  of  the  fashionable  life,  and  they  had  not  a 
moment  to  spare  for  their  own  personal  lives;  besides,  Ade 
laide  wouldn't  have  "  fitted  in  "  comfortably.  The  men  of 
their  set  would  be  shy  of  her  now;  the  women  would  regard 
her  as  a  waste  of  time. 

Her  beauty  and  her  cleverness  might  have  saved  her,  had 
she  been  of  one  of  those  "  good  families  "  whom  fashionables 
the  world  over  recognize,  regardless  of  their  wealth  or  pov 
erty,  because  recognition  of  them  gives  an  elegant  plausibil 
ity  to  the  pretense  that  Mammon  is  not  the  supreme  god  in 
the  Olympus  of  aristocracy.  But — who  were  the  Rangers? 
They  might  be  "  all  right "  in  Saint  X,  but  where  was 
Saint  X?  Certainly,  not  on  any  map  in  the  geography  of 
fashion. 

So  Adelaide,  sore  but  too  lethargic  to  suffer,  drifted 
drearily  along,  feeling  that  if  Dory  Hargrave  were  not  under 
the  influence  of  that  brilliant,  vanished  past  of  hers,  even  he 
would  abandon  her  as  had  the  rest,  or,  at  least,  wouldn't  care 
for  her.  Not  that  she  doubted  his  sincerity  in  the  ideals  he 
professed ;  but  people  deceived  themselves  so  completely.  There 
was  her  own  case;  had  she  for  an  instant  suspected  how 
flimsily  based  was  her  own  idea  of  herself  and  of  her  place 
in  the  world? — the  "world"  meaning,  of  course,  "the  set." 
As  is  the  rule  in  "  sets,"  her  self-esteem's  sole  foundation  had 
been  what  she  had,  or,  rather,  what  the  family  had,  and  now 
that  that  was  gone,  she  held  what  was  left  cheap  indeed — and 
held  herself  the  cheaper  that  she  could  feel  thus.  At  the  out 
set,  Arthur,  after  the  familiar  male  fashion,  was  apparently 
the  weaker  of  the  two.  But  when  the  test  came,  when  the  time 
for  courageous  words  was  succeeded  by  the  time  for  deeds,  the 
shrinking  from  action  that,  since  the  nation  grew  rich,  has 
become  part  of  the  education  of  the  women  of  the  classes  which 
shelter  and  coddle  their  women,  caused  Adelaide  to  seem  feeble 
indeed  beside  her  brother.  Also — and  this  should  never  be 
forgotten  in  judging  such  a  woman — Arthur  had  the  advan 
tage  of  the  man's  compulsion  to  act,  while  Adelaide  had  the 

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A    CAST-OFF    SLIPPER 


disadvantage  of  being  under  no  material  necessity  to  act — and 
what  necessity  but  the  material  is  there? 

Dory — his  love  misleading  his  passion,  as  it  usually  does 
when  it  has  much  influence  before  marriage — reasoned  that, 
in  the  interest  of  the  Adelaide  that  was  to  be,  after  they  were 
married,  and  in  his  own  interest  with  her  as  well,  the  wise 
course  for  him  to  pursue  was  to  wait  until  time  and  the  com 
pulsion  of  new  circumstances  should  drive  away  her  mood, 
should  give  her  mind  and  her  real  character  a  chance  to  assert 
themselves.  In  the  commission  to  go  abroad,  he  saw  the  ex 
ternal  force  for  which  he  had  been  waiting  and  hoping.  And 
it  seemed  to  him  most  timely — for  Ross's  wedding  invitations 
w?re  out. 

"  Two  weeks,"  said  Adelaide  absently.  "  You  will  sail  in 
two  weeks."  Then  in  two  weeks  she  could  be  out  of  it  all, 
could  be  far  away  in  new  surroundings,  among  new  ideas, 
among  strangers.  She  could  make  the  new  start;  she  could 
submerge,  drown  her  old  self  in  the  new  interests. 

"Will  you  come?"  he  said,  when  he  could  endure  the 
suspense  no  longer.  "  Won't  you  come?  " 

She  temporized.  "  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't — oughtn't  to 
leave — mother  and  Arthur  just  now." 

He  smiled  sadly.  She  might  need  her  mother  and  her 
brother;  but  in  the  mood  in  which  she  had  been  for  the  last  few 
months,  they  certainly  did  not  need  her.  "  Adelaide,"  said  he, 
with  that  firmness  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to  combine 
with  gentleness,  without  weakening  it,  "  our  whole  future  de 
pends  on  this.  If  our  lives  are  to  growr  together,  we  must 
begin.  This  is  our  opportunity." 

She  knew  that  Dory  was  not  a  man  she  could  play  fast 
and  loose  with,  even  had  she  been  so  disposed.  Clearly,  she 
must  decide  whether  she  intended  to  marry  him,  to  make  his 
life  hers  and  her  life  his.  She  looked  helplessly  round.  What 
but  him  was  there  to  build  on?  Without  him —  She  broke 
the  long  silence  with,  "  That  is  true.  We  must  begin."  Then, 
after  a  pause  during  which  she  tried  to  think  and  found  shf 
couldn't,  "  Make  up  my  mind  for  me." 

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THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Let  us  be  married  day  after  to-morrow,"  said  he.  "  We 
can  leave  for  New  York  on  the  one  o'clock  train  and  sail  on 
Thursday." 

"You  had  it  planned!" 

"  I  had  several  plans,"  he  answered.  "  That's  the  best 
one." 

What  should  she  do?  Impulsively — why,  she  did  not 
know — she  gave  Dory  her  answer:  "  Yes,  that  is  the  best  plan. 
I  must  begin — at  once."  And  she  started  up,  in  a  fever  to 
be  doing. 

Dory,  dazed  by  his  unexpected,  complete  victory,  went 
immediately,  lest  he  should  say  or  do  something  that  would 
break  or  weaken  the  current  of  her  aroused  energy.  He  went 
without  as  much  as  touching  her  hand.  Certainly,  if  ever 
man  tempted  fate  to  snatch  from  him  the  woman  he  loved, 
Dory  did  then;  and  at  that  time  Del  must,  indeed,  have 
been  strongly  drawn  to  him,  or  she  would  have  been  unable  to 
persist. 

The  problem  of  the  trousseau  was  almost  as  simple  for 
her  as  for  him.  She  had  been  extravagant  and  luxurious,  had 
accumulated  really  unmanageable  quantities  of  clothing  of  all 
kinds,  far,  far  more  than  any  woman  without  a  maid  could 
take  care  of.  The  fact  that  she  had  not  had  a  maid  was  in 
part  responsible  for  this  superfluity.  She  had  neither  the  time 
nor  the  patience  for  making  or  for  directing  the  thousand  ex 
asperating  little  repairs  that  are  necessary  if  a  woman  with  a 
small  wardrobe  is  always  to  look  well.  So,  whenever  repairs 
were  necessary,  she  bought  instead;  and  as  she  always  kept 
herself  fresh  and  perfect  to  the  smallest  detail  she  had  to 
buy  profusely.  As  soon  as  a  dress  or  a  hat  or  a  blouse  or  a 
parasol,  a  pair  of  boots,  slippers,  stockings,  or  any  of  the  costly, 
flimsy,  all  but  unlaunderable  underwear  she  affected,  became 
not  quite  perfect,  she  put  it  aside  against  that  vague  day  when 
she  should  have  leisure  or  inclination  for  superintending  a 
seamstress.  Within  two  hours  of  her  decision  she  had  a  seam 
stress  in  the  house,  and  they  and  her  mother  were  at  work. 
There  was  no  necessity  to  bother  about  new  dresses.  She 

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A    CAST-OFF    SLIPPER 


would  soon  be  putting  off  black,  and  she  could  get  in  Paris 
what  she  would  then  need. 

In  the  whirlwind  of  those  thirty-six  hours,  she  had  not  a 
moment  to  think  of  anything  but  the  material  side  of  the  wed 
ding — the  preparations  for  the  journey  and  for  the  long  ab 
sence.  She  was  half  an  hour  late  in  getting  down  to  the  front 
parlor  for  the  ceremony,  and  she  looked  so  tired  from  toil 
and  lack  of  sleep  that  Dory  in  his  anxiety  about  her  was  all 
but  unconscious  that  they  were  going  through  the  supposedly 
solemn  marriage  rite.  Looking  back  on  it  afterwards,  they 
could  remember  little  about  it — perhaps  even  less  than  can 
the  average  couple,  under  our  social  system  which  makes  a 
wedding  a  social  function,  not  a  personal  rite.  They  had  once 
in  jesting  earnest  agreed  that  they  would  have  the  word 
"obey"  left  out  of  the  vows;  but  they  forgot  this,  and  neither 
was  conscious  of  repeating  "  obey  "  hfter-the  preacher.  Ade 
laide  was  thinking  of  her  trunks,  was  trying  to  recall  the  things 
she  felt  she  must  have  neglected  in  the  rush;  Dory  was  wor 
rying  over  her  paleness  and  the  heavy  circles  under  her  eyes, 
was  fretting  about  the  train — Del's  tardiness  had  not  been  in 
the  calculations.  Even  the  preacher,  infected  by  the  atmos 
phere  of  haste,  ran  over  the  sentences,  hardly  waiting  for  the 
responses.  Adelaide's  mother  was  hearing  the  trunks  going 
down  to  the  van,  and  was  impatient  to  be  where  she  could 
superintend — there  was  a  very  important  small  trunk,  full  of 
underclothes,  which  she  was  sure  they  were  overlooking.  Ar 
thur  was  gloomily  abstracted,  was  in  fierce  combat  with  the 
bitter  and  melancholy  thoughts  which  arose  from  the  con 
trast  he  could  not  but  make — this  simple  wedding,  with  Dory 
Hargrave  as  her  groom,  when  in  other  circumstances  there 
would  have  been  such  pomp  and  grandeur.  He  and  Mary  the 
cook  and  Ellen  the  upstairs  girl  and  old  Miss  Skeffington, 
generalissimo  of  the  Hargrave  household,  were  the  only  per 
sons  present  keenly  conscious  that  there  was  in  progress  a  wed 
ding,  a  supposedly  irrevocable  union  of  a  man  and  woman  for 
life  and  for  death  and  for  posterity.  Even  old  Dr.  Har 
grave  was  thinking  of  what  Dory  was  to  do  on  the  other  side, 

183 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

was  mentally  going  over  the  elaborate  scheme  for  his  son's 
guidance  which  he  had  drawn  up  and  committed  to  paper. 
Judge  Torrey,  the  only  outsider,  was  putting  into  form  the 
speech  he  intended  to  make  at  the  wedding  breakfast. 

But  there  was  no  wedding  breakfast — at  least,  none  for 
bride  and  groom.  The  instant  the  ceremony  was  over,  Mary 
the  cook  whispered  to  Mrs.  Ranger:  "  Mike  says  they've  just 
got  time  to  miss  the  train." 

"Good  gracious!"  cried  Mrs.  Ranger.  And  she  darted 
out  to  halt  the  van  and  count  the  trunks.  Then  she  rushed 
in  and  was  at  Adelaide's  arm.  "  Hurry,  child!  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Here  is  my  present  for  you." 

And  she  thrust  into  her  hand  a  small  black  leather  case, 
the  cover  of  a  letter  of  credit.  Seeing  that  Del  was  too  dazed 
to  realize  what  was  going  on,  she  snatched  it  away  and  put  it 
into  the  traveling  case  which  Mary  was  carrying.  Amid  much 
shaking  hands  and  kissing  and  nervous  crying,  amid  flooding 
commonplaces  and  hysterical  repetitions  of  "  Good-by !  Good 
luck!  "  the  young  people  were  got  off.  There  was  no  time  for 
Mary  to  bring  the  rice  from  the  kitchen  table,  but  Ellen  had 
sequestered  one  of  Adelaide's  old  dancing  slippers  under  the 
front  stair.  She  contrived  to  get  it  out  and  into  action,  and  to 
land  it  full  in  Adelaide's  lap  by  a  lucky  carrom  against  the 
upright  of  the  coach  window. 

Adelaide  looked  down  at  it  vaguely.  It  was  one  of  a  pair 
of  slippers  she  had  got  for  the  biggest  and  most  fashionable 
ball  she  had  ever  attended.  She  remembered  it  all — the  gor- 
geousness  of  the  rooms,  the  flowers,  the  dresses,  the  favors, 
her  own  ecstasy  in  being  where  it  was  supposed  to  be  so  diffi 
cult  to  get;  how  her  happiness  had  been  marred  in  the  early 
part  of  the  evening  by  Ross's  attendance  on  Helen  Galloway 
in  whose  honor  the  ball  was  given;  how  he  made  her  happy 
again  by  staying  beside  her  the  whole  latter  part  of  the  even 
ing,  he  and  more  young  men  than  any  other  girl  had.  And 
here  was  the  slipper,  with  its  handsome  buckle  torn  off,  stained, 
out  of  shape  from  having  been  so  long  cast  aside.  Where  did 
it  come  from?  How  did  it  get  here?  Why  had  this  ghost 

184 


A    CAST-OFF    SLIPPER 


suddenly  appeared  to  her?  On  the  opposite  seat,  beside  her 
traveling  case,  fashionable,  obviously  expensive,  with  her  ini 
tials  in  gold,  was  a  bag  marked  "  T.  H." — of  an  unfashionable 
appearance,  obviously  inexpensive,  painfully  new.  She  could 
not  take  her  fascinated  eyes  from  it;  and  the  hammering  of 
her  blood  upon  her  brain,  as  the  carriage  flew  toward  the  sta 
tion,  seemed  to  be  a  voice  monotonously  repeating,  "  Married — 
married — "  She  shuddered.  "  My  fate  is  settled  for  life," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  I  am  married  I  " 

She  dared  not  look  at  her  husband —  Husband!  In  that 
moment  of  cruel  memory,  of  ghastly  chopfallen  vanity,  it  was 
all  she  could  do  not  visibly  to  shrink  from  him.  She  forgot 
that  he  was  her  best  friend,  her  friend  from  babyhood  almost, 
Theodore  Hargrave.  She  felt  only  that  he  was  her  husband, 
her  jailer,  the  representative  of  all  that  divided  her  forever 
from  the  life  of  luxury  and  show-  which  had  so  permeated  her 
young  blood  with  its  sweet,  lingering  poison.  She  descended 
from  the  carnage,  passed  the  crowd  of  gaping,  grinning  loung 
ers,  and  entered  the  train,  with  cheeks  burning  and  eyes  down 
cast,  an  ideal  bride  in  appearance  of  shy  and  refined  modesty. 
And  none  who  saw  her  delicate,  aristocratic  beauty  of  face 
and  figure  and  dress  could  have  attributed  to  her  the  angry, 
ugly,  snobbish  thoughts,  like  a  black  core  hidden  deep  in  the 
heart  of  a  bewitching  flower. 

As  he  sat  opposite  her  in  the  compartment,  she  was  exag 
gerating  into  glaring  faults  the  many  little  signs  of  indiffer 
ence  to  fashion  in  his  dress.  She  had  never  especially  noted 
before,  but  now  she  was  noting  as  a  shuddering  exhibition  of 
"  commonness,"  that  he  wore  detachable  cuffs  —  and  upon 
this  detail  her  distraught  mind  fixed  as  typical.  She  could  not 
take  her  eyes  off  his  wrists;  every  time  he  moved  his  arms  so 
that  she  could  see  the  wristband  within  his  cuff,  she  felt  as  if 
a  piece  of  sandpaper  were  scraping  her  skin.  He  laid  his  hand 
on  her  two  gloved  hands,  folded  loosely  in  her  lap.  Every 
muscle,  every  nerve  of  her  body  grew  tense;  she  only  just 
fought  down  the  impulse  to  snatch  her  hands  away  and  shriek 
at  him, 

13  185 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

She  sat  rigid,  her  teeth  set,  her  eyes  closed,  until  her  real 
self  got  some  control  over  the  monstrous,  crazy  creature  raving 
within  her.  Then  she  said:  "Please  don't — touch  me — just 
now.  I've  been -on  such  a  strain — and  I'm  almost  breaking 
down." 

He  drew  his  hand  away.  "  I  ought  to  have  understood," 
he  said.  "  Would  you  like  to  be  left  alone  for  a  while?  " 

Without  waiting  for  her  answer,  he  left  the  compartment 
to  her.  She  locked  the  door  and  let  herself  loose.  When  she 
had  had  her  cry  "  out,"  she  felt  calm ;  but  oh,  so  utterly  de 
pressed.  "  This  is  only  a  mood,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  don't 
really  feel  that  way  toward  him.  Still — I've  made  a  miserable 
mistake.  I  ought  not  to  have  married  him.  I  must  hide  it. 
I  mustn't  make  him  suffer  for  what's  altogether  my  own  fault. 
I  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

WTien  he  came  back,  she  proceeded  to  put  her  programme 
into  action.  All  the  afternoon  he  strove  with  her  sweet  gen 
tleness  and  exaggerated  consideration  for  him ;  he  tried  to  make 
her  see  that  there  was  no  necessity  for  this  elaborate  pose  and 
pretense.  But  she  was  too  absorbed  in  her  part  to  heed  him. 
In  the  evening,  soon  after  they  returned  to  the  compartment 
from  the  dining  car,  he  rose.  "  I  am  going  out  to  smoke," 
he  said.  "  I'll  tell  the  porter  to  make  up  your  berth.  You 
must  be  very  tired.  I  have  taken  another — out  in  the  car — 
so  that  you  will  not  be  disturbed." 

She  grew  white,  and  a  timid,  terrified  look  came  into  her 
eyes. 

He  touched  her  shoulder — gently.  "  Don't — please !  "  he 
said  quietly.  "  In  all  the  years  we've  known  each  other,  have 
you  ever  seen  anything  in  me  to  make  you  feel — like — that?" 

Her  head  drooped  still  lower,  and  her  face  became  crimson. 

"Adelaide,  look  at  me!" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  until  they  met  his  uncertainly. 

He  put  out  his  hand.     "We  are  friends,  aren't  we?" 

She  instantly  laid  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Friends,"  he  repeated.  "  Let  us  hold  fast  to  that — and 
let  the  rest  take  care  of  itself." 

1 86 


A    CAST-OFF    SLIPPER 


"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,"  said  she.  And  in  her  swift  re 
vulsion  of  feeling  there  was  again  opportunity  for  him.  But 
he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  see  it. 

"  You  certainly  ought  to  be,"  replied  he,  with  his  frank 
smile  that  was  so  full  of  the  suggestions  of  health  and  sanity 
and  good  humor.  "  You'll  never  get  a  martyr's  crown  at  myi 
expense." 

At  New  York  he  rearranged  their  steamer  accommodations. 
It  was  no  longer  diffidence  and  misplaced  consideration  that 
moved  him  permanently  to  establish  the  most  difficult  of  bar 
riers  between  them;  it  was  pride  now,  for  in  her  first  stormy 
moments  in  the  train  he  had  seen  farther  into  her  thoughts 
than  he  dared  let  himself  realize. 


187 


CHAPTER   XVII 

POMP   AND   CIRCUMSTANCE 

'HE  day  after  the  wedding,  as  Arthur  was  going 
home  from  work,  he  saw  Ross  on  the  lofty 
seat  of  a  dogcart,  driving  toward  him  along 
lower  Monroe  Street.  His  anger  instantly 
flamed  and  flared ;  he  crushed  an  oath  between 
his  teeth  and  glanced  about  for  some  way  to 
avoid  the  humiliating  meeting.  But  there  was  no  cross  street 
between  him  and  the  on-coming  cart.  Pride,  or  vanity,  came 
to  his  support,  as  soon  as  he  was  convinced  that  escape  was  im 
possible.  With  an  air  that  was  too  near  to  defiance  to  create 
the  intended  impression  of  indifference,  he  swung  along  and, 
just  as  the  cart  was  passing,  glanced  at  his  high-enthroned 
former  friend. 

Ross  had  not  seen  him  until  their  eyes  met.  He  drew  his 
horse  in  so  sharply  that  it  reared  and  pawed  in  amazement  and 
indignation  at  the  bit's  coarse  insult  to  thoroughbred  instincts 
for  courteous  treatment.  He  knew  Arthur  was  at  work  in 
the  factory;  but  he  did  not  expect  to  see  him  in  workman's 
dress,  with  a  dinner  pail  in  his  hand.  And  from  his  height, 
he,  clad  in  the  carefully  careless,  ostentatiously  unostentatious 
garments  of  the  "  perfect  gentleman,"  gazed  speechless  at  the 
spectacle.  Arthur  reddened  violently.  Not  all  the  daily  con 
trasts  thrust  upon  him  in  those  months  at  the  cooperage  had 
so  brought  home  to  his  soul  the  differences  of  caste.  And  there 
came  to  him  for  the  first  time  that  hatred  of  inequalities  which, 
repulsive  though  it  is  in  theory,  is  yet  the  true  nerver  of  the 
strong  right  arm  of  progress.  It  is  as  characteristic  of  the 
homely,  human  countenance  of  Democracy  as  the  supercilious 

188 


POMP    AND    CIRCUMSTANCE 

smirk  is  of  the  homely,  inhuman  countenance  of  caste.  Arthur 
did  not  want  to  get  up  where  Ross  was  seated  in  such  elegant 
state;  he  wanted  to  tear  Ross,  all  the  Rosses  down.  "The 
damn  fool!"  he  fumed.  "  He  goes  lounging  about,  wasting 
the  money  we  make.  It's  all  wrong.  And  if  we  weren't  a  herd 
of  tame  asses,  we  wouldn't  permit  it." 

And  now  he  began  to  feel  that  he  was  the  superior  of  this 
showy  idler,  that  his  own  garments  and  dinner  pail  and  used 
hands  were  the  titles  to  a  nobility  which  could  justly  look  down 
upon  those  who  filched  from  the  treasury  of  the  toiler  the 
means  to  buzz  and  flit  and  glitter  in  dronelike  ease.  "  As  for 
these  Whitneys,"  he  thought,  "  mother's  right  about  them." 
Then  he  called  out  in  a  tone  of  good-natured  contempt,  which 
his  stature  and  his  powerful  frame  and  strong,  handsome 
face  made  effective:  "  Hello,  Ross!  When  did  you  come  to 
town  ?  " 

"  This  morning,"  replied  Ross.  "  I  heard  you  were  work 
ing,  but  I  had  no  idea  it  was —  I've  just  been  to  your  house, 
looking  for  you,  and  was  on  the  way  to  the  factory.  Father 
told  me  to  see  that  you  get  a  suitable  position.  I'm  going  to 
Howells  and  arrange  it.  You  know,  father's  been  in  the  East 
and  very  busy." 

"  Don't  bother,"  said  Arthur,  and  there  was  no  pretense  in 
his  air  of  ease.  "  I've  got  just  what  I  want.  I  am  carrying 
out  father's  plan,  and  I'm  far  enough  into  it  to  see  that  he 
was  right." 

In  unbelieving  silence  Ross  looked  down  at  his  former  equal 
with  condescending  sympathy;  how  well  Arthur  knew  that 
look!  And  he  remembered  that  he  had  once,  so  short  a  time 
before,  regarded  it  as  kindly,  and  the  thoughts  behind  it  as 
generous ! 

"  I  like  my  job,"  he  continued.  "  It  gives  me  a  sense  of 
doing  something  useful — of  getting  valuable  education.  Al 
ready  I've  had  a  thousand  damn-fool  ideas  knocked  out  of  my 
head." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  interesting,"  said  Ross,  with  gracious  en 
couragement.  "  The  associations  must  be  rather  trying." 

189 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

'  They  were  rather  trying,"  replied  Arthur  with  a  smile. 
"  Trying  to  the  other  men,  until  I  got  my  bearings  and  lost 
the  silliest  of  the  silly  ideas  put  in  my  head  by  college  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  But,  now  that  I  realize  I'm  an  apprentice  and 
not  a  gentleman  deigning  to  associate  with  the  common  herd, 
I  think  I'm  less  despicable — and  less  ridiculous.  Still,  I'm  rind 
ing  it  hard  to  get  it  through  my  head  that  practically  every 
thing  I  learned  is  false  and  must  be  unlearned." 

"  Don't  let  your  bitterness  over  the  injustice  to  you  swing 
you  too  far  the  other  way,  Artie,"  said  Ross  with  a  faint  smile 
in  his  eyes  and  a  suspicious,  irritating  friendliness  in  his  voice. 
"  You'll  soon  work  out  of  that  class  and  back  where  you 
belong." 

Arthur  was  both  angry  and  amused.  No  doubt  Ross  was 
right  as  to  the  origin  of  this  new  breadth  of  his ;  but  a  wrong 
motive  may  start  a  man  right  just  as  readily  as  a  right  motive 
may  start  him  wrong.  Arthur  would  have  admitted  frankly 
his  first  feelings  about  his  changed  position,  would  have  ad 
mitted  that  those  feelings  still  lingered,  still  seemed  to  influence 
him,  as  grown  people  often  catch  themselves  thinking  in  terms 
of  beliefs  impressed  on  them  in  childhood,  but  exploded  and 
abandoned  at  the  very  threshold  of  youth.  But  he  knew,  also, 
that  his  present  beliefs  and  resolves  and  aspirations  were  sin 
cere,  were  sane,  were  final — the  expression  of  the  mind  and 
heart  that  were  really  himself.  Of  what  use,  however,  to  argue 
with  Ross?  "  I  could  no  more  convince  him,"  thought  Arthur, 
"  than  I  could  myself  have  been  convinced  less  than  a  year  ago." 
Besides,  of  what  importance  were  Ross's  beliefs  about  him  or 
about  his  views?  So  he  said  to  him,  and  his  tone  and  manner 
were  now  convincing:  "Well,  we'll  see.  However,  as  long  as 
I'm  a  workman,  I'll  stand  with  my  class — just  as  you  stand 
with  your  class.  And  while  you  are  pretending  to  be  generous 
to  us,  we'll  pretend  to  be  contemptuous  of  you.  You'll  think 
we  are  living  off  of  your  money;  we'll  think  you  are  living  off 
of  our  work.  You'll  say  we're  earning  less  than  half  what  we 
get;  we'll  say  you're  stealing  more  than  half  what  you  get.  It 
may  amuse  you  to  hear  that  I  am  one  of  the  organizers  of  the 

190 


POMP    AND    CIRCUMSTANCE 

trades  union  that's  starting.  I'm  on  the  committee  on  wages. 
So  some  day  you  and  I  are  likely  to  meet." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  those  things,"  said  Ross 
politely.  "  I  can  see  that  you're  right  to  ingratiate  yourself 
with  those  working  chaps.  It  will  stand  you  in  good  stead 
when  you  get  on  top  and  have  to  manage  them." 

Arthur  laughed,  and  so  did  Ross.  They  eyed  each  the  other 
with  covert  hostility.  "  Poor  creature!"  thought  Ross.  And 
"Pup!"  thought  Arthur.  "How  could  I  have  wanted  Del 
to  marry  him  ?  "  He  wished  to  pass  on,  but  was  detained  by 
some  suggestion  in  Ross's  manner  that  he  had  not  yet  discharged 
his  mind  of  its  real  burden. 

"  I  was  glad  to  see  your  mother  so  well,"  said  Ross. 

"  I  wish  she  were,"  replied  Arthur.  "  She  seemed  to  be  bet 
ter  while  the  excitement  about  Del's  wedding  was  on ;  but 
as  soon  as  Del  and  Dory  went,  she  dropped  back  again.  I 
think  the  only  thing  that  keeps  her  from — from  joining  father 
is  the  feeling  that,  if  she  were  to  go,  the  family  income  would 
stop.  I  feel  sure  we'd  not  have  her,  if  father  had  left  us  well 
provided  for,  as  they  call  it." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Ross,  the  decent  side  of  his  nature  now 
full  to  the  fore.  "  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  sense  of  loss  I  had 
when  your  father  died.  Artie,  he  was  a  splendid  gentleman. 
And  there  is  a  quality  in  your  mother  that  makes  me  feel  very 
humble  indeed  before  her." 

Arthur  passed,  though  he  noted,  the  unconscious  supercili 
ousness  in  this  tribute;  he  felt  that  it  was  a  genuine  tribute, 
that,  for  all  its  discoloration  in  its  passage  through  the  tainted 
outer  part  of  Ross's  nature,  it  had  come  from  the  unspoiled, 
untainted,  deepest  part.  Fortunately  for  us  all,  the  gold  in 
human  nature  remains  gold,  whatever  its  alloys  from  base  con 
tacts;  and  it  is  worth  the  mining,  though  there  be  but  a  grain 
of  it  to  the  ton  of  dross.  As  Ross  spoke  Arthur  wrarmed  to 
him.  "  You  must  come  to  see  us,"  he  said  cordially. 

Ross  became  embarrassed,  so  embarrassed  that  all  his  ability 
to  command  his  feelings  went  for  nothing.  "  Thank  you," 
said  he  hurriedly,  "  but  I'm  here  only  for  a  few  hours.  I  go 

191 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

away  to-night.  I  came  about  a  matter  that — that —  I  want 
to  get  back  as  soon  as  possible." 

Arthur  was  mystified  by  the  complete  transformation  of  the 
self-complacent,  superior  Ross  of  a  few  minutes  before.  He 
now  noted  that  Ross  was  looking  almost  ill,  his  eyes  sunken, 
the  lids  red  at  the  edges,  as  if  from  loss  of  sleep.  Under  Ar 
thur's  scrutiny  his  embarrassment  increased  to  panic.  He  nerv 
ously  shifted  the  reins,  made  the  horse  restless,  shook  hands 
with  Arthur,  reined  in,  tried  to  speak,  said  only,  "  I  must  be 
off — my  horse  is  getting  nervous,"  and  was  gone. 

Arthur  looked  after  him.  "  That's  the  sort  of  chap  I  was 
on  the  way  to  being  when  father  pulled  me  up,"  he  reflected. 
"  I  wonder  if  I'll  ever  get  sense  enough  not  to  have  a  sneaking 
envy  of  him — and  regret  ?  " 

If  he  could  have  looked  in  upon  Ross's  mind,  he  might  have 
been  abruptly  thrust  far  along  the  toilsome  road  toward  his 
goal.  In  this  world,  roses  and  thorns  have  a  startling,  pre 
posterous  way  of  suddenly  exchanging  natures  so  that  what 
was  thorn  becomes  fairest  rose,  and  what  was  rose  becomes 
most  poisonous  of  thorns.  Ross  had  just  fallen  an  amazed  and 
incredulous  victim  to  this  alchemy.  Though  somewhat  un 
comfortable  and  downright  unhappy  at  times,  he  had  been,  on 
the  whole,  well  pleased  with  himself  and  his  prospects  until 
he  heard  that  Adelaide  was  actually  about  to  marry  Dory. 
His  content  collapsed  with  the  foundation  on  which  it  was  built 
— the  feeling  that  Adelaide  was  for  no  other  man,  that  if  at 
any  time  he  should  change  his  mind  he  wOuld  find  her  waiting 
to  welcome  him  gratefully.  He  took  train  for  Saint  X,  telling 
himself  that  after  he  got  there  he  could  decide  what  to  do. 
In  fact,  when  he  had  heard  that  the  wedding  was  about  to  be, 
it  was  over  and  Adelaide  and  Dory  were  off  for  New  York 
and  Europe ;  but  he  did  not  find  this  out  until  he  reached  Saint 
X.  The  man  who  gave  him  that  final  and  overwhelming  news 
noticed  no  change  in  his  face,  though  looking  for  signs  of  emo 
tion;  nor  did  Ross  leave  him  until  he  had  confirmed  the  im 
pression  of  a  heart  at  ease.  Far  along  the  path  between  the 
Country  Club  and  Point  Helen  he  struck  into  the  woods  and, 

192 


POMP    AND    CIRCUMSTANCE 

with  only  the  birds  and  the  squirrels  as  witnesses,  gave  way 
to  his  feelings. 

Now,  now  that  she  was  irrevocably  gone,  he  knew.  He 
had  made  a  hideous  mistake;  he  had  been  led  on  by  his  vanity, 
led  on  and  on  until  the  trap  was  closed  and  sprung ;  and  it  was 
too  late.  He  sat  there  on  a  fallen  tree  with  his  head  aching  as 
if  about  to  explode,  with  eyes  dry  and  burning  and  a  great 
horror  of  heart-hunger  sitting  before  him  and  staring  at  him. 
In  their  sufferings  from  defeated  desire  the  selfish  expiate  their 
sins. 

He  had  forgotten  his  engagement  to  Theresa  Howland,  the 
wedding  only  two  weeks  away.  It  suddenly  burst  in  upon  his 
despair  like  a  shout  of  derisive  laughter.  "  I'll  not  marry 
her!  "  he  cried  aloud.  "  I  can't  do  it!  " 

But  even  as  he  spoke  he  knew  that  he  could,  and  would, 
and  must.  He  had  been  a  miserable  excuse  for  a  lover  to 
Theresa;  but  Theresa  had  never  had  love.  All  the  men  who 
had  approached  her  with  "  intentions  "  had  been  fighting  hard 
against  their  own  contempt  of  themselves  for  seeking  a  wife 
for  the  sake  of  her  money,  and  their  efforts  at  love-making 
had  been  tame  and  lame ;  but  Theresa,  knowing  no  better,  sim 
ply  thought  men  not  up  to  the  expectations  falsely  raised  by 
the  romances  and  the  songs.  She  believed  she  could  not  but 
get  as  good  a  quality  of  love  as  there  was  going;  and  Ross, 
with  his  delightful,  aristocratic  indifference,  was  perfectly  satis 
factory.  Theresa  had  that  thrice-armored  self-complacence 
which  nature  so  often  relentingly  gives,  to  more  than  supply 
the  lack  of  the  charms  withheld.  She  thought  she  was  fas 
cinating  beyond  any  woman  of  her  acquaintance,  indeed,  of 
her  time.  She  spent  hours  in  admiring  herself,  in  studying  out 
poses  for  her  head  and  body  and  arms,  especially  her  arms, 
which  she  regarded  as  nature's  last  word  on  that  kind  of 
beauty — a  not  wholly  fanciful  notion,  as  they  were  not  bad, 
if  a  bit  too  short  between  elbow  and  wrist,  and  rather  fat 
at  the  shoulders.  She  always  thought  and,  on  several  occa 
sions  in  bursts  of  confidence,  had  imparted  to  girl  friends  that 
"  no  man  who  has  once  cared  for  me  can  ever  care  for  another 

193 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

woman."  Several  of  her  confidantes  had  precisely  the  same 
modest  opinion  of  their  own  powers;  but  they  laughed  at 
Theresa — behind  her  back. 

Ross  knew  how  vain  she  was.  To  break  with  her,  he  would 
have  to  tell  her  flatly  that  he  would  not  marry  her.  "  I'd  be 
doing  her  no  injury,"  thought  he.  "  Her  vanity  would  root, 
out  some  explanation  which  would  satisfy  her  that,  whatever 
might  be  the  cause,  it  wasn't  lack  of  love  for  her  on  my  part." 
But —  To  break  off  was  unthinkable.  The  invitations  out; 
the  arrangements  for  the  wedding  all  made;  quantities  of 
presents  arrived —  "  I've  got  to  go  through  with  it.  I've 
got  to  marry  her,"  said  Ross.  "  But  God  help  me,  how  I  shall 
hate  her!" 

And,  stripped  clean  of  the  glamour  of  her  wealth,  she  rose 
before  him — her  nose  that  was  red  and  queer  in  the  mornings; 
her  little  personal  habits  that  got  on  the  nerves,  especially  a 
covert  self-infatuated  smile  that  flitted  over  her  face  at  any 
compliment,  however  obviously  perfunctory ;  her  way  of  talking 
about  every  trivial  thing  she  did — and  what  did  she  do  that 
was  not  trivial? — as  if  some  diarist  ought  to  take  it  down  for 
the  delight  of  ages  to  come.  As  Ross  looked  at  the  new-created 
realistic  image  of  her,  he  was  amazed.  "  Why,  I've  always  dis 
liked  her!  "  he  cried.  "  I've  been  lying  to  myself.  I  am  too 
low  for  words,"  he  groaned.  "  Was  there  ever  such  a  sneak 
ing  cur  ?  "  Yes,  many  a  one,  full  as  unconscious  of  his  own 
qualities  as  he  himself  had  been  until  that  moment;  nor  could 
he  find  consolation  in  the  fact  that  he  had  company,  plenty  of 
company,  and  it  of  the  world's  most  "  gentlemanly  "  and  most 
"  ladylike." 

The  young  man  who  left  that  wood,  the  young  man  whom 
Arthur  saw  that  day,  had  in  his  heart  a  consciousness,  an  ache, 
of  lonely  poverty  that  dress  and  dogcarts  and  social  position 
could  do  little — something,  but  little — to  ease. 

He  stopped  at  Chicago  and  sent  word  to  Windrift  that  he 
was  ill — not  seriously  ill,  but  in  such  a  state  that  he  thought 
it  best  to  take  care  of  himself,  with  the  wedding  so  near. 

194 


POMP    AND    CIRCUMSTANCE 

Theresa  was  just  as  well  pleased  to  have  him  away,  as  it  gave 
her  absolute  freedom  to  plan  and  to  superintend  her  triumph. 
For  the  wedding  was  to  be  her  individual  and  exclusive  tri 
umph,  with  even  Ross  as  part  of  the  background — the  most 
conspicuous  part,  but  still  simply  background  for  her  personal 
splendor. 

Old  Rowland — called  Bill  until  his  early  career  as  a  pedlar 
and  keeper  of  a  Cheap  Jack  bazaar  was  forgotten  and  who, 
after  the  great  fire,  which  wiped  out  so  many  pasts  and  purified 
and  pedigreed  Chicago's  present  aristocracy,  called  himself  Wil 
liam  G.  Rowland,  merchant  prince,  had,  in  his  ideal  charac 
ter  for  a  wealth-chaser,  one  weakness — a  doting  fondness  for 
his  daughter.  When  she  came  into  the  world,  the  doctors  told 
him  his  wife  would  have  no  more  children ;  thereafter  his  man 
ner  was  always  insulting,  and  usually  his  tone  and  words,  when 
ever  and  of  whatever  he  spoke  to  her.  Women  wrere  made  by 
the  Almighty  solely  to  bear  children  to  men;  his  woman  had 
been  made  to  bear  him  a  son.  Now  that  she  would  never  have 
a  son,  she  wras  of  no  use,  and  it  galled  him  that  he  could  find 
no  plausibly  respectable  excuse  for  casting  her  off,  as  he  cast  off 
worn-out  servants  in  his  business.  But  as  the  years  passed 
and  he  saw  the  various  varieties  of  thorns  into  which  the  sons 
of  so  many  of  his  fellow-princes  developed,  he  became  reconciled 
to  Theresa — not  to  his  wife.  That  unfortunate  woman,  the 
daughter  of  a  drunkard  and  partially  deranged  by  illness  and 
by  grief  over  her  husband's  brutality  toward  her,  became — or 
rather,  was  made  by  her  insistent  doctor — what  would  have 
been  called  a  drunkard,  had  she  not  been  the  wife  of  a  prince. 
Her  "dipsomania"  took  an  unaggressive  form,  as  she  was  by 
nature  gentle  and  sweet ;  she  simply  used  to  shi  t  herself  in  and 
drink  until  she  would  cry  herself  into  a  timid,  suppressed  hys 
teria.  So  secret  was  she  that  Theresa  never  knew  the  truth 
about  these  "  spells." 

Rowland  did  not  like  Ross;  but  when  Theresa  told  him 
she  was  going  to  marry  him  she  had  only  to  cry  a  little  and  sit 
in  the  old  man's  lap  and  tease.  "  Very  well,  then."  said  her 
father,  "  you  can  have  him.  But  he's  a  gambler,  like  hi?  father. 

195 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

They  call  it  finance,  but  changing  the  name  of  a  thing  only 
changes  the  smell  of  it,  not  the  thing  itself.  I'm  going  to  tie 
my  money  up  so  that  he  can't  get  at  it." 

"  I  want  you  to,  papa,"  replied  Theresa,  giving  him  a  kiss 
and  a  great  hug  for  emphasis.  "  I  don't  want  anybody  to  be 
able  to  touch  my  property." 

For  the  wedding,  Rowland  gave  Theresa  a  free  hand. 
"  I'll  pay  the  bills,  no  matter  what  they  are,"  said  he.  "  Give 
yourself  a  good  time."  And  Theresa,  who  had  been  brought 
up  to  be  selfish,  and  was  prudent  about  her  impulses  only  where 
she  suspected  them  of  being  generous,  proceeded  to  arrange  for 
herself  the  wedding  that  is  still  talked  about  in  Chicago  "  so 
ciety  "  and  throughout  the  Middle  West.  A  dressmaker  from 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix  came  over  with  models  and  samples,  and 
carried  back  a  huge  order  and  a  plaster  reproduction  of 
Theresa's  figure,  and  elaborate  notes  on  the  color  of  her  skin, 
hair,  eyes,  and  her  preferences  in  shapes  of  hats.  A  jeweler, 
also  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  came  with  jewels — nearly  a  million 
dollars'  worth — for  her  to  make  selections.  Her  boots  and 
shoes  and  slippers  she  got  from  Rowney,  in  Fifth  Avenue,  who, 
as  everybody  knows,  makes  nothing  for  less  than  thirty-five 
dollars,  and  can  put  a  hundred  dollars  worth  of  price,  if  not 
of  value,  into  a  pair  of  evening  slippers.  Theresa  was  proud 
of  her  feet;  they  were  short  and  plump,  and  had  those  abrupt, 
towering  insteps  that  are  regarded  by  the  people  who  have 
them  as  unfailing  indications  of  haughty  lineage,  just  as  the 
people  who  have  flat  feet  dwell  fondly  upon  the  flat  feet  of 
the  Wittlesbachs,  kings  in  Bavaria.  She  was  not  easy  to  please 
in  the  matter  of  casements  for  those  feet ;  also,  as  she  was  very 
short  in  stature,  she  had  to  get  three  and  a  half  extra  inches 
of  height  out  of  her  heels ;  and  to  make  that  sort  of  heel  so  that 
it  can  even  be  hobbled  upon  is  not  easy  or  cheap.  Once  Theresa, 
fretting  about  her  red-ended  nose  and  muddy  skin,  had  gone 
to  a  specialist.  "  Let  me  see  your  foot,"  said  he;  and  when  he 
saw  the  heel,  he  exclaimed :  "  Cut  that  tight,  high-heeled  thing 
out  or  you'll  never  get  a  decent  skin,  and  your  eyes  will  ;rouble 
you  by  the  time  you  are  thirty."  But  Theresa,  before  adopting 

196 


POMP    AND    CIRCUMSTANCE 

such  drastic  measures,  went  to  a  beauty  doctor.  He  assured 
her  that  she  could  be  cured  without  the  sacrifice  of  the  heel, 
and  that  the  weakness  of  her  eyes  would  disappear  a  year  or 
so  after  marriage.  And  he  was  soon  going  into  ecstasies  over 
her  improvement,  over  the  radiance  of  her  beauty.  She  saw 
with  his  eyes  and  ceased  to  bother  about  nose  or  skin — they 
were  the  least  beautiful  of  her  beauties,  but —  "  One  can't 
expect  to  be  absolutely  perfect.  Besides,  the  absolutely  perfect 
kind  of  beauty  might  be  monotonous." 

The  two  weeks  before  the  wedding  were  the  happiest  of  her 
life.  All  day  long,  each  day,  vans  were  thundering  up  to  the 
rear  doors  of  Windrift,  each  van  loaded  to  bursting  with  new 
and  magnificent,  if  not  beautiful  costliness.  The  house  was  full 
of  the  employees  of  florists,  dressmakers,  decorators,  each  one 
striving  to  outdo  the  other  in  servility.  Theresa  was  like  an 
autocratic  sovereign,  queening  it  over  these  menials  and  fancy 
ing  herself  adored.  They  showed  so  plainly  that  they  were 
awed  by  her  and  were  in  ecstasies  of  admiration  over  her  taste. 
And,  as  the  grounds  and  the  house  were  transformed,  Theresa's 
exaltation  grew  until  she  went  about  fairly  dizzy  with  delight 
in  herself. 

The  bridesmaids  and  ushers  came.  They  were  wealth-wor 
shipers  all,  and  their  homage  lifted  Theresa  still  higher.  They 
marched  and  swrept  about  in  her  train,  lording  it  over  the 
menials  and  feeling  that  they  were  not  a  whit  behind  the  grand 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  French  courts  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  They  had  read  the  memoirs  of  that  idyllic  period  dili 
gently,  had  read  with  minds  only  for  the  flimsy  glitter  which  hid 
the  vulgarity  and  silliness  and  shame  as  a  gorgeous  robe  hastily 
donned  by  a  dirty  chambermaid  might  conceal  from  a  casual 
glance  the  sardonic  and  repulsive  contrast.  The  wedding  day 
approached  all  too  swiftly  for  Theresa  and  her  court.  True, 
that  would  be  the  magnificent  climax;  but  they  knew  it  would 
also  dissipate  the  spell — after  the  wedding,  life  in  twentieth 
century  America  again. 

"  If  only  it  don't  rain!  "  said  Harry  Legendre. 

"  It  won't,"  replied  Theresa  with  conviction — and  her  look 

197 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

of  command  toward  the  heavens  made  the  courtiers  exchange 
winks  and  smiles  behind  her  back.  They  were  courtiers  to 
wealth,  not  to  Theresa,  just  as  their  European  prototypes  are 
awed  before  a  "  king's  most  excellent  Majesty,"  not  before  his 
swollen  body  and  shrunken  brain. 

And  it  did  not  rain.  Ross  arrived  in  the  red  sunset  of  the 
wedding  eve,  Tom  Glenning,  his  best  man,  coming  with  him. 
They  were  put,  with  the  ushers,  in  rooms  at  the  pavilion  where 
were  the  squash  courts  and  winter  tennis  courts  and  the  swim 
ming  baths.  Theresa  and  Ross  stood  on  the  front  porch  alone 
in  the  moonlight,  looking  out  over  the  enchantmentlike  scene 
into  which  the  florists  and  decorators  had  transformed  the  ter 
races  and  gardens.  She  was  a  little  alarmed  by  his  white  face 
and  sunken  eyes ;  but  she  accepted  his  reassurances  without  ques 
tion — she  would  have  disbelieved  anything  which  did  not  fit  in 
with  her  plans.  And  now,  as  they  gazed  out  upon  that  beauty 
under  the  soft  shimmer  of  the  moonlight,  her  heart  suddenly 
expanded  in  tenderness.  "  I  am  so  happy,"  she  murmured,  slip 
ping  an  arm  through  his. 

Her  act  called  for  a  return  pressure.  He  gave  it,  much  as 
a  woman's  salutation  would  have  made  him  unconsciously  move 
to  lift  his  hat. 

"  While  Adele  was  dressing  me  for  dinner — "  she  began. 

At  that  name,  he  moved  so  that  her  arm  dropped  from  his; 
but  she  did  not  connect  her  maid  with  her  former  bosom 
friend. 

"  I  got  to  thinking  about  those  who  are  not  so  well  off  as 
we,"  she  went  on ;  "  about  the  poor.  And  so,  I've  asked  papa 
to  give  all  his  employees  and  the  servants  nice  presents,  and 
I've  sent  five  thousand  dollars  to  be  divided  among  the  churches 
in  the  town,  down  tnere — for  the  poor.  Do  you  think  I  did 
wrong?  I'm  always  afraid  of  encouraging  those  kind  of  people 
to  expect  too  much  of  us." 

She  had  asked  that  he  might  echo  the  eulogies  she  had  been 
bestowing  upon  herself.  But  he  disappointed  her.  "  Oh,  I 
guess  it  was  well  enough,"  he  replied.  "  I  must  go  down  to  the 
pavilion.  I'm  fagged,  and  you  must  be,  too." 

198 


POMP   AND    CIRCUMSTANCE 

The  suggestion  that  he  might  not  be  looking  his  best  on  the 
morrow  was  enough  to  change  the  current  of  her  thoughts. 
"  Yes,  do,  dear!  "  she  urged.  "  And  don't  let  Tom  and  Harry 
and  the  rest  keep  you  up." 

They  did  not  even  see  him.  He  sat  in  the  shed  at  the  end  of 
the  boat-landing,  staring  out  over  the  lake  until  the  moon  set. 
Then  he  went  to  the  pavilion.  It  was  all  dark;  he  stole  in,  and 
to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  Before  his  closed  but  seeing  eyes  floated 
a  vision  of  two  women — Adelaide  as  he  had  last  seen  her, 
Theresa  as  she  looked  in  the  mornings,  as  she  had  looked  that 
afternoon. 

He  was  haggard  next  day.  But  it  was  becoming  to  him, 
gave  the  finishing  touch  to  his  customary  bored,  distinguished 
air;  and  he  was  dressed  in  a  way  that  made  every  man  there 
envy  him.  As  Theresa,  on  insignificant-looking  little  Bill  How- 
land's  arm,  advanced  to  meet  him  at  the  altar  erected  under  a 
canopy  of  silk  and  flowers  in  the  bower  of  lilies  and  roses  into 
which  the  big  drawing-room  had  been  transformed,  jhe  thrilled 
with  pride.  There  was  a  man  one  could  look  at  with  delight, 
as  one  said,  "  My  husband!  " 

It  was  a  perfect  day — perfect  weather,  everything  going  for 
ward  without  hitch,  everybody  looking  his  and  her  best,  and 
"  Mama  "  providentially  compelled  by  one  of  her  "  spells  "  to 
keep  to  her  room.  Those  absences  of  hers  were  so  frequent  and 
so  much  the  matter  of  course  that  no  one  gave  them  a  second 
thought.  Theresa  had  studied  up  the  customs  at  fashionable 
English  and  French  weddings,  and  had  combined  the  most  aris- 
'tocratic  features  of  both.  Perhaps  the  most  successful  feature 
was  when  she  and  Ross,  dressed  for  the  going  away,  \valked,  she 
leaning  upon  his  arm,  across  the  lawns  to  the  silk  marquee  where 
the  wedding  breakfast  was  served.  Before  them,  walking  back 
ward,  were  a  dozen  little  girls  from  the  village  school,  all  in 
white,  strewing  roses  from  beribboned  baskets,  and  singing, 
"  Behold!  The  bride  in  beauty  comes!  " 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  all  over,"  said  Theresa  as  she  settled 
back  in  a  chair  in  the  private  car  that  was  to  take  them  to  Wil 
derness  Lodge,  in  northern  Wisconsin  for  the  honeymoon. 

199 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"-  s.— 

"  So  am  I,"  Ross  disappointed  her  by  saying.  "  I've  felt  like 
a  damn  fool  ever  since  I  began  to  face  that  gaping  gang." 

"  But  you  must  admit  it  was  beautiful,"  objected  Theresa 
pouting. 

Ross  shut  his  teeth  together  to  keep  back  a  rude  reply.  He 
was  understanding  how  men  can  be  brutal  to  women.  To  look 
at  her  was  to  have  an  all  but  uncontrollable  impulse  to  rise  up 
and  in  a  series  of  noisy  and  profane  explosions  reveal  to  her  the 
truth  that  was  poisoning  him.  After  a  while,  a  sound  from  her 
direction  made  him  glance  at  her.  She  was  sobbing.  He  did 
not  then  know  that,  to  her,  tears  were  simply  the  means  to  get 
ting  what  she  wanted;  so  his  heart  softened.  While  she  was 
thinking  that  she  was  looking  particularly  well  and  femininely 
attractive,  he  was  pitying  her  as  a  forlorn  creature,  who  could 
never  inspire  love  and  ought  to  be  treated  with  consideration, 
much  as  one  tries  to  hide  by  an  effusive  show  of  courtesy  the  re 
pulsion  deformity  inspires. 

"  Don't  cry,  Theresa,"  he  said  gently,  trying  to  make  up  his 
mind  to  touch  her.  But  he  groaned  to  himself,  "  I  can't !  I 
must  wait  until  I  can't  see  her."  And  he  ordered  the  porter  to 
bring  him  whisky  and  soda. 

"  Won't  you  join  me?  "  he  said. 

"  You  know,  I  never  touch  anything  to  drink,"  she  replied. 
"  Papa  and  Dr.  Massey  both  made  me  promise  not  to." 

Ross's  hand,  reaching  out  for  the  bottle  of  whisky,  drew 
slowly  back.  He  averted  his  face  that  she  might  not  see.  He 
knew  about  her  mother — and  knew  Theresa  did  not.  It  had 
never  entered  his  head  that  the  weakness  of  the  mother  might 
be  transmitted  to  the  daughter.  Now —  Just  before  they  left, 
Dr.  Massey  had  taken  him  aside  and,  in  a  manner  that  would 
have  impressed  him  instantly  but  for  his  mood,  had  said:  "  Mr. 
Whitney,  I  want  you  never  to  forget  that  Theresa  must  not 
be  depressed.  You  must  take  the  greatest  care  of  her.  We 
must  talk  about  it  again — when  you  return." 

And  this  was  what  he  meant! 

He  almost  leaped  to  his  feet  at  Theresa's  softly  interrupting 
voice,  "  Are  you  ill,  dear?  " 

200 


POMP    AND    CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  A  little — the  strain — I'll  be  all  right — "  And  leaving  the 
whisky  untouched,  he  went  into  his  own  compartment.  As  he 
was  closing  the  door,  he  gave  a  gasp  of  dismay.  "  She  might 
begin  now!  "  he  muttered.  He  rang  for  the  porter.  "  Bring 
that  bottle,"  he  said.  Then,  as  an  afterthought  of  "  appear 
ances,"  "  And  the  soda  and  a  glass." 

"  I  can  get  you  another,  sir,"  said  the  porter. 

"  No — that  one,"  ordered  Ross. 

Behind  the  returning  porter  came  Theresa.  "  Can't  I  do 
something  for  you,  dear?  Rub  your  head,  or  fix  the  pillows?  " 

Ross  did  not  look  at  her.  "  Do,  please — fix  the  pillows,"  he 
said.  "  Then  if  I  can  sleep  a  little,  I'll  be  all  right,  and  will 
soon  rejoin  you." 

"  Can't  I  fix  your  drink  for  you?"  she  asked,  putting  her 
hand  on  the  bottle. 

Ross  restrained  an  impulse  to  snatch  it  away  from  her. 
"  Thanks,  no — dear,"  he  answered.  "  I've  decided  to  s\vear  off 
— with  you.  Is  it  a  go?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Silly!  "  she  murmured,  bending  and  kissing 
him.  "  If -you  wish." 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Ross,  with  a  forced,  pained  smile. 
"  We'll  neither  of  us  touch  it.  I  was  getting  into  the  habit  of 
taking  too  much — not  really  too  much — but —  Oh,  you  un 
derstand." 

"  That's  the  way  father  feels  about  it/'  said  Theresa,  laugh 
ing.  "  We  never  drink  at  home — except  mother  when  she  has 
a  spell,  and  has  to  be  kept  up  on  brandy." 

Ross  threw  his  arm  up  to  hide  his  face.  "  Let  me  sleep,  do," 
he  said  gently. 


14  201 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

LOVE,   THE    BLUNDERER 

S  Dory  had  several  months'  work  before  him 
at  Paris,  he  and  Del  took  a  furnished  apart 
ment  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  high  up,  attractive 
within,  before  its  balconied  windows  the  stately, 
trees,  the  fountains,  the  bright  flower  beds,  the 
thronged  playgrounds  of  the  Tuileries.  But 
they  were  not  long  left  to  themselves;  in  their  second  week, 
the  concierge's  little  girl  late  one  afternoon  brought  Janet's 
card  up  to  Adelaide.  As  Janet  entered,  Del  regretted  having 
yielded  to  impulse  and  admitted  her.  For,  the  granddaughter 
of  "  blue-jeans  Jones,"  the  tavern  keeper,  was  looking  the  ele 
gant  and  idle  aristocrat  from  the  tip  of  the  tall,  graceful  plume 
in  her  most  Parisian  of  hats  to  the  buckles  of  shoes  which 
matched  her  dress,  parasol,  and  jewels.  A  lovely  Janet,  a  mar 
velous  Janet;  a  toilette  it  must  have  taken  her  two  hours  to 
make,  and  spiritual  hazel  eyes  that  forbade  the  idea  of  her  giving 
so  much  as  a  moment's  thought  to  any  material  thing,  even  to 
dress.  Adelaide  had  spent  with  the  dressmakers  a  good  part 
of  the  letter  of  credit  her  mother  slipped  into  her  traveling  bag 
at  the  parting ;  she  herself  was  in  a  negligee  which  had  as  much 
style  as  Janet's  costume  and,  in  addition,  individual  taste, 
whereof  Janet  had  but  little;  and  besides,  while  her  beauty 
had  the  same  American  delicateness,  as  of  the  finest,  least  florid 
Sevres  or  Dresden,  it  also  had  a  look  of  durability  which 
Janet's  beauty  lacked — for  Janet's  beauty  depended  upon  those 
fragilities,  coloring  and  contour.  Adelaide  was  not  notably 
vain,  had  a  clear  sense  of  her  defects,  tended  to  exaggerate 
them,  rather  than  her  many  and  decisive  good  points.  It  was 

202 


LOVE,    THE    BLUNDERER 


not  Janet's  appearance  that  unsettled  Del ;  she  brought  into  the 
room  the  atmosphere  Del  had  breathed  during  all  those  im 
portant  years  of  girlhood,  and  had  not  yet  lost  her  fondness 
for.  It  depressed  her  at  once  about  herself  to  note  how  this 
vision  of  the  life  that  had  been  but  would  never  be  again 
affected  her. 

"  You  are  sad,  dear,"  said  Janet,  as  she  kissed  her  on  both 
cheeks  with  a  diffusing  of  perfume  that  gave  her  a  sense  of  a 
bouquet  of  priceless  exotics  waving  before  her  face. 

"  You  are  sad,  dear,"  she  repeated,  with  that  air  of  tenderest 
sympathy  which  can  be  the  safest  cover  for  subtle  malice. 

Adelaide  shrank. 

"I'm  so  glad  I've  come  when  I  may  be  able  to  do  some 
good." 

Adelaide  winced. 

"  How  cozy  these  rooms  are " 

At  "  cozy  "  Adelaide  shuddered.  No  one  ever  used,  ex 
cept  apologetically,  that  word,  which  is  the  desperate  last  resort 
of  compliment. 

"  And  what  a  beautiful  view  from  the  windows — so  much1 
better  than  ours  at  the  pompous  old  Bristol,  looking  out  on 
that  bare  square !  " 

Adelaide  laughed.  Not  by  chance,  she  knew,  did  Miss 
Janet,  with  her  softly  sheathed  but  swift  and  sharp  cat  claws, 
drag  in  the  delicate  hint  that  while  Adelaide  was  "  cozy  "  in 
an  unaristocratic  maison  meublee,  she  herself  was  ensconced  in 
the  haunts  of  royalty ;  and  it  suddenly  came  back  to  Del  how 
essentially  cheap  was  "  aristocracy." 

"  But  I  mustn't  look  at  those  adorable  gardens,"  continued 
Janet.  "  They  fill  me  with  longing  for  the  country,  for  the 
pure,  simple  things.  I  am  so  sick  of  the  life  mamma  and  I  lead. 
And  you  are  married  to  dear  Dory — how  romantic!  And  I 
hear  that  Arthur  is  to  marry  Margaret  Schultz — or  whatever 
her  name  was — that  splendid  creature!  She  was  a  dear  friend 
of  the  trained  nurse  I  had  last  spring,  and  what  the  nurse 
told  me  about  her  made  me  positively  love  her.  Such  char 
acter!  And  getting  ready  to  lead  such  a  useful  life."  This 

203 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

without  the  least  suggestion  of  struggle  with  a  difficult  subject. 
"  Arthur  is  a  noble  fellow,  too.  If  we  had  been  in  spiritual 
accord,  I'd  have  loved  to  go  and  lead  his  life  with  him." 

Adelaide  was  in  high  good  humor  now — Janet  was  too  pre 
posterous  to  be  taken  seriously.  "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do 
for  you,  Jen  ?  "  said  she. 

"Why,  nothing!"  exclaimed  Janet,  looking  a  little  won 
der  and  much  reproach. 

Del  laughed.  "  Now,  really,  Jen,"  said  she.  "  You  know 
you  never  in  the  world  went  to  all  the  trouble  of  getting  my 
address,  and  then  left  royalty  at  the  Bristol  for  a  malson 
meublee,  four  flights  up  and  no  elevator,  just  to  see  me!  " 

"  I  had  thought  of  something  I  was  sure  would  give  you 
pleasure,"  said  Janet,  injured. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do  for  you?"  repeated  Ade 
laide,  with  smiling  persistence. 

"  Mamma  and  I  have  an  invitation  to  spend  a  week  at  Be- 
sangon — you  know,  it's  the  splendid  old  chateau  Louis  Treize 
'.fised  to  love  to  visit.  It's  still  the  seat  of  the  Saint  Berthe 
family,  and  the  present  Marquis,  a  dear  friend  of  ours,  is  such 
a  wonderful,  fine  old  nobleman — so  simple  and  gracious  and 
full  of  epigrams.  He  really  ought  to  wear  lace  and  ruffles  and 
a  beautiful  peruke.  At  any  rate,  as  I  was  saying,  he  has  asked 
us  down.  But  mamma  has  to  go  to  England  to  see  papa  before 
he  sails,  and  I  thought  you'd  love  to  visit  the  chateau — you  and 
Dory.  It's  so  poetic — and  historic,  too." 

"  Your  mother  is  going  away  and  you'll  be  unable  to  make 
this  visit  unless  you  get  a  chaperon,  and  you  want  me  to  chap 
eron  you,"  said  Adelaide,  who  was  not  minded  to  be  put  in 
the  attitude  of  being  the  recipient  of  a  favor  from  this  par 
ticular  young  woman  at  this  particular  time,  when  in  truth 
she  was  being  asked  to  confer  a  favor.  "  Adversity "  had 
already  sharpened  her  wits  to  the  extent  of  making  her  alert  to 
the  selfishness  disguised  as  generosity  which  the  prosperous  love 
to  shower  upon  their  little  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  poor. 
She  knew  at  once  that  Janet  must  have  been  desperately  off 
for  a  chaperon  to  come  to  her. 

204 


LOVE,    THE    BLUNDERER 


A  look  of  irritation  marred  Janet's  spiritual  countenance 
for  an  instant.  But  she  never  permitted  anything  whatsoever 
to  stand  between  her  and  what  she  wished.  She  masked  her 
self  and  said  sweetly:  "Won't  you  go,  dear?  I  know  you'll 
enjoy  it — you  and  Dory.  And  it  would  be  a  great  favor  to 
me.  I  don't  see  how  I  can  go  unless  you  consent.  You  know, 
1  mayn't  go  with  just  anyone." 

Adelaide's  first  impulse  was  to  refuse;  but  she  did  not. 
She  put  off  decision  by  saying,  "  I'll  ask  Dory  to-night,  and  let 
you  know  in  the  morning.  Will  that  do?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Janet,  rising  to  go.  "  I'll  count  on 
you,  for  I  know  Dory  will  want  to  see  the  chateau  and  get 
a  glimpse  of  life  in  the  old  aristocracy.  It  will  be  so  educa 
tional." 

Dory  felt  the  change  in  Del  the  instant  he  entered  their 
little  salon — felt  that  during  the  day  some  new  element  had  in 
truded  into  their  friendly  life  together,  to  interrupt,  to  unsettle, 
and  to  cloud  the  brightening  vistas  ahead.  At  the  mention  of 
Janet  he  began  to  understand.  He  saw  it  all  when  she  said 
with  a  show  of  indifference  that  deceived  only  herself, 
"Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  down  to  Besangon?" 

"  Not  I,"  replied  he  coldly.  "  Europe  is  full  of  that  kind 
of  places.  You  can't  glance  outdoors  without  seeing  a  house 
or  a  ruin  where  the  sweat  and  blood  of  peasants  were 
squandered." 

"  Janet  thought  you'd  be  interested  in  it  as  history,"  per 
sisted  Adelaide,  beginning  to  feel  irritated. 

"  That's  amusing,"  said  Dory.  "  You  might  have  told 
her  that  scandal  isn't  history,  that  history  never  was  made  in 
such  places.  As  for  the  people  who  live  there  now,  they're 
certainly  not  worth  \vhile — the  same  pretentious  ignoramuses 
that  used  to  live  there,  except  they  no  longer  have  fangs." 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  so  prejudiced,"  said  Adelaide,  who 
in  those  days  often  found  common  sense  irritating.  She  had 
the  all  but  universal  habit  of  setting  down  to  "  prejudice  "  such 
views  as  are  out  of  accord  with  the  set  of  views  held  by  one's 
business  or  professional  or  social  associates. 

205 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Her  irritation  confirmed  Dory's  suspicions.  "  I  spoke  only 
for  myself,"  said  he.  "  Of  course,  you'll  accept  Janet's  invi 
tation.  She  included  me  only  as  a  matter  of  form." 

"  I  couldn't,  without  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well—wouldn't,  then." 

"  But  I  urge  you  to  go — want  you  to  go !  I  can't  possibly 
leave  Paris,  not  for  a  day — at  present." 

"  I  shan't  go  without  you,"  said  Adelaide,  trying  hard  to 
make  her  tone  firm  and  final. 

Dory  leaned  across  the  table  toward  her — they  were  in  the 
garden  of  a  cafe  in  the  Latin  Quarter.  "  If  you  don't  go, 
Del,"  said  he,  "  you'll  make  me  feel  that  I  am  restraining 
you  in  a  way  far  meaner  than  a  direct  request  not  to  go.  You 
want  to  go.  I  want  you  to  go.  There  is  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't." 

Adelaide  smiled  shamefacedly.  "  You  honestly  want  to 
get  rid  of  me?  " 

"  Honestly.    I'd  feel  like  a  jailer,  if  you  didn't  go." 

"  What'll  you  do  in  the  evenings?" 

"  Work  later,  dine  later,  go  to  bed  and  get  up  earlier." 

"  Work — always  work,"  she  said.  She  sighed,  not  wholly 
insincerely.  "  I  wish  I  weren't  so  idle  and  aimless.  If  I  were 
the  woman  I  ought  to  be " 

"None  of  that — none  of  that!"  he  cried,  in  mock  stern 
ness. 

"  I  ought  to  be  interested  in  your  work." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were!"  he  exclaimed,  in  smiling 
astonishment. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  in  a  way — in  an  '  entertainment '  sort  of 
way.  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  about  it — who  wouldn't?  But 
I  don't  give  the  kind  of  interest  I  should — the  interest  that 
thinks  and  suggests  and  stimulates." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  Dory.  "  The  '  helpful  ' 
sort  of  people  are  usually  a  nuisance." 

But  she  knew  the  truth,  though  passion  might  still  be  veil 
ing  it  from  him.  Life,  before  her  father's  will  forced  an 

206 


LOVE,    THE    BLUNDERER 


abrupt  change,  had  been  to  her  a  showman,  submitting  his  ex 
hibits  for  her  gracious  approval,  shifting  them  as  soon  as  she 
looked  as  if  she  were  about  to  be  bored;  and  the  change  had 
come  before  she  had  lived  long  enough  to  exhaust  and  weary 
of  the  few  things  he  has  for  the  well-paying  passive  spectator, 
but  not  before  she  had  formed  the  habit  of  making  only  the 
passive  spectator's  slight  mental  exertion. 

"  Dory  is  so  generous,"  she  thought,  with  the  not  acutely 
painful  kind  of  remorse  we  lay  upon  the  penitential  altar  for 
our  own  shortcomings,  "  that  he  doesn't  realize  how  I'm  shirk 
ing  and  letting  him  do  all  the  pulling."  And  to  him  she  said, 
"  If  you  could  have  seen  into  my  mind  while  Janet  was  here, 
you'd  give  me  up  as  hopeless." 

Dory  laughed.  "  I  had  a  glimpse  of  it  just  now — when 
you  didn't  like  it  because  I  couldn't  see  my  \vay  clear  to  taking 
certain  people  so  seriously  as  you  think  they  deserve." 

"  But  you  are  prejudiced  on  that  subject,"  she  maintained. 

"  And  ever  shall  be,"  admitted  he,  so  good-humoredly  that 
she  could  not  but  respond.  "  It's  impossible  for  me  to  forget 
that  every  luxurious  idler  means  scores  who  have  to  work  long 
hours  for  almost  nothing  in  order  that  he  may  be  of  no  use 
to  the  world  or  to  himself." 

"  You'd  have  the  whole  race  on  a  dead  level,"  said 
Adelaide. 

"  Of  material  prosperity — yes,"  replied  Dory.  "  A  high 
dead  level.  I'd  abolish  the  coarse,  brutal  contrasts  between 
waste  and  want.  Then  there'd  be  a  chance  for  the  really  inter 
esting  contrasts — the  infinite  varieties  of  thought  and  taste 
and  character  and  individuality." 

"  I  see,"  said  Adelaide,  as  if  struck  by  a  new  idea.  "  You'd 
have  the  contrasts,  differences  among  flowers,  not  merely  be 
tween  flower  and  weed.  You'd  abolish  the  weeds." 

"  Root  and  stalk,"  answered  Dory,  admiring  her  way  of 
putting  it.  "  My  objection  to  these  aristocratic  ideals  is  that 
they  are  so  vulgar — and  so  dishonest.  Is  that  prejudice?  " 

"  No — oh,  no !  "  replied  Del  sincerely.  "  Now,  it  seems  to 
me,  I  don't  care  to  go  with  Janet." 

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THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Not  to  oblige  me — very  particularly?  I  want  you  to 
go.  I  want  you  to  see  for  yourself,  Del." 

She  laughed.     "  Then  I'll  go — but  only  because  you  ask  it." 

That  was  indeed  an  elegant  company  at  Besan^on — elegant 
in  dress,  elegant  in  graceful  carelessness  of  manners,  elegant  in 
graceful  sinuosities  of  cleverly  turned  phrases.  But  after  the 
passing  of  the  first  and  second  days'  sensations,  Hiram  and 
Ellen  Ranger's  daughter  began  to  have  somewhat  the  same 
feeling  she  remembered  having  as  a  little  girl,  when  she  went 
to  both  the  afternoon  and  the  evening  performances  of  the 
circus.  These  people,  going  through  always  the  same  tricks 
in  the  same  old  narrow  ring  of  class  ideas,  lost  much  of  their 
charm  after  a  few  repetitions  of  their  undoubtedly  clever  and 
attractive  performance;  she  even  began  to  see  how  they  would 
become  drearily  monotonous.  "  No  wonder  they  look  bored," 
she  thought.  "  They  are."  What  enormous  importance  they 
attached  to  trifles!  What  ludicrous  tenacity  in  exploded  de 
lusions!  And  what  self-complacent  claiming  of  remote,  power 
ful  ancestors  who  had  founded  their  families,  when  those  an 
cestors  would  have  disclaimed  them  as  puny  nonentities.  Their 
ideas  were  wholly  provided  for  them,  precisely  as  were  their 
clothes  and  every  artistic  thing  that  gave  them  "  background." 
They  would  have  made  as  absurd  a  failure  of  trying  to  evolve 
the  one  as  the  other.  Yet  they  posed — and  were  widely  ac 
cepted — as  the  superiors  of  those  who  made  their  clothes  and 
furniture  and  of  those  who  made  their  ideas.  And  she  had 
thought  Dory  partly  insincere,  partly  prejudiced  when  he  had 
laughed  at  them.  Why,  he  had  only  shown  the  plainest  kind 
of  American  good  sense.  As  for  snobbishness,  was  not  the 
silly-child  American  brand  of  it  less  ridiculous  than  this  un 
blushing  and  unconcealed  self-reverence,  without  any  physical, 
mental  or  material  justification  whatsoever?  They  hadn't 
good  manners  even,  because — as  Dory  had  once  said — no  one 
could  have  really  good  manners  who  believed,  and  acted  upon 
the  belief,  that  he  was  the  superior  of  most  of  the  members  of 
his  own  family — the  human  race. 

208 


LOVE,    THE    BLUNDERER 


"  I  suppose  I  could  compress  myself  back  into  being  satis 
fied  with  this  sort  of  people  and  things,"  she  thought,  as  she 
looked  round  the  ballroom  from  which  pose  and  self -conscious 
ness  and  rigid  conventionality  had  banished  spontaneous  gayety. 
"  I  suppose  I  could  even  again  come  to  fancying  this  the  only 
life.  But  I  certainly  don't  care  for  it  now." 

But,  although  Adelaide  was  thus  using  her  eyes  and  her 
mind — her  own  eyes  and  her  own  mind — in  observing  what 
was  going  on  around  her,  she  did  not  disconcert  the  others, 
not  even  Janet,  by  expressing  her  thoughts.  Common  sense — 
absolute  common  sense — always  sounds  incongruous  in  a  con 
ventional  atmosphere.  In  its  milder  forms  it  produces  the 
effect  of  wit;  in  stronger  doses  it  is  a  violent  irritant;  in  large 
quantity,  it  causes  those  to  whom  it  is  administered  to  regard 
the  person  administering  it  as  insane.  Perhaps  Adelaide  might 
have  talked  more  or  less  frankly  to  Janet  had  Janet  not  been 
so  obviously  in  the  highest  of  her  own  kind  of  heavens.  She 
was  raised  to  this  pinnacle  by  the  devoted  attentions  of  the 
Viscount  Brunais,  eldest  son  of  Saint  Berthe  and  the  most 
agreeable  and  adaptable  of  men,  if  the  smallest  and  homeliest. 
Adelaide  spoke  of  his  intelligence  to  Janet,  when  they  were 
alone  before  dinner  on  the  fourth  day,  and  Janet  at  once 
responded. 

"And  such  a  soul!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  He  inherits  all  the 
splendid,  noble  traditions  of  their  old,  old  family.  You  see 
in  his  face  that  he  is  descended  from  generations  of  refinement 
and  —  and  —  freedom  from  contact  with  vulgarizing  work, 
don't  you?  " 

"  That  hadn't  struck  me,"  said  Adelaide  amiably.  "  But 
he's  a  well-meaning,  good-hearted  little  man,  and,  of  course, 
he  feels  as  at  home  in  the  surroundings  he's  had  all  his  life  as 
a  bird  on  a  bough.  Who  doesn't?" 

"But  when  you  know  him  better,  when  you  know  him  as 
I  know  him — "  Janet's  expression  disclosed  the  secret. 

"  But  won't  you  be  lonely — away  off  here — among — for 
eign  people?  "  said  Adelaide. 

"  Oh,  I  should  love  it  here!  "  exclaimed  Janet.  "  It  seems 

209 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

to  me  I — he  and  I — must  have  lived  in  this  very  chateau  in 
a  former  existence.  We  have  talked  about  it,  and  he  agrees 
with  me.  We  are  so  harmonious." 

"  You've  really  made  up  your  mind  to — to  marry  him?" 
Adelaide  had  almost  said  "  to  buy  him  " ;  she  had  a  sense  that 
it  was  her  duty  to  disregard  Janet's  pretenses,  and  "  buy  "  was 
so  exactly  the  word  to  use  with  these  people  to  whom  money 
was  the  paramount  consideration,  the  thought  behind  every 
other  thought,  the  feeling  behind  every  other  feeling,  the  main 
spring  of  their  lives,  the  mainstay  of  all  the  fictions  of  their 
aristocracy. 

"  That  depends  on  father,"  replied  Janet.  "  Mother  has 
gone  to  talk  to  him  about  it." 

"  I'm  sure  your  father  won't  stand  between  you  and  hap 
piness,"  said  Adelaide. 

"  But  he  doesn't  understand  these  aristocratic  people,"  re 
plied  she.  "  Of  course,  if  it  depended  upon  Aristide  and  me, 
we  should  be  married  without  consulting  anybody.  But  he 
can't  legally  marry  without  his  father's  consent,  and  his  father 
naturally  wants  proper  settlements.  It's  a  cruel  law,  don't  you 
think?" 

Adelaide  thought  not;  she  thought  it,  on  the  contrary,  an 
admirable  device  to  "  save  the  face "  of  a  mercenary  lover 
posing  as  a  sentimentalist  and  money-spurner.  But  she  merely 
said,  "  I  think  it's  most  characteristic,  most  aristocratic."  She 
knew  Janet,  how  shrewd  she  was,  how  thoroughly  she  under 
stood  the  "  coarse  side  of  life."  She  added,  "  And  your  father'll 
come  round." 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  it,"  sighed  Janet.  "  The  Saint 
Berthes  have  an  exaggerated  notion  of  papa's  wealth.  Besides, 
they  need  a  good  deal.  They  were  robbed  horribly  by  those 
dreadful  revolutionists.  They  used  to  own  all  this  part  of  the 
country.  All  these  people  round  here  with  their  little  farms 
were  once  the  peasants  of  Aristide's  ancestors.  Now — even 
this  chateau  has  a  mortgage  on  it.  I  couldn't  keep  back  the 
tears,  while  Aristide  was  telling  me." 

Adelaide  thought  of  Charles  Whitney  listening  to  that  same 

210 


LOVE,    THE    BLUNDERER 


recital,  and  almost  laughed.  "  Well,  I  feel  sure  it  will  turn 
out  all  right,"  she  said.  "  Your  mother'll  see  to  that.  And 
I  believe  you'll  be  very,  very  happy."  Theatricals  in  private 
life  was  Janet's  passion  —  why  should  she  not  be  happy? 
Frenchmen  were  famous  for  their  politeness  and  consideration 
to  their  wives;  Aristide  would  never  let  her  see  or  feel  that 
she  bored  him,  that  her  reverence  for  the  things  he  was  too 
intelligent  and  modern  not  to  despise  appealed  to  him  only 
through  his  sense  of  humor.  Janet  would  push  her  shrewd, 
soulful  way  into  social  leadership,  would  bring  her  children 
up  to  be  more  aristocratic  than  the  children  of  the  oldest 
aristocrats. 

Adelaide  smiled  as  she  pictured  it  all — smiled,  yet  sighed. 
She  was  not  under  Janet's  fixed  and  unshakable  delusions. 
She  saw  that  high-sounding  titles  were  no  more  part  of  the 
personalities  bearing  them  than  the  mass  of  frankly  false  hair 
so  grandly  worn  by  Aristide's  grand-aunt  was  part  of  the  wisp- 
like  remnant  of  natural  head  covering.  But  that  other  self  of 
hers,  so  reluctant  to  be  laughed  or  frowned  down  and  out  by 
the  self  that  was  Hiram  Ranger's  daughter,  still  forced  her  to 
share  in  the  ancient,  ignorant  allegiance  to  "  appearances." 
She  did  not  appreciate  how  bored  she  was,  how  impatient  to  be 
back  with  Dory,  the  never  monotonous,  the  always  interesting, 
until  she  discovered  that  Janet,  with  her  usual  subtlety,  had 
arranged  for  them  to  stay  another  week,  had  made  it  impos 
sible  for  her  to  refuse  without  seeming  to  be  disobliging  and 
even  downright  rude.  They  were  to  have  returned  to  Paris 
on  a  Monday.  On  Sunday  she  wrote  Dory  to  telegraph  for 
her  on  Tuesday. 

"  I'd  hate  to  be  looking  forward  to  that  life  of  dull  fool 
ery,"  thought  she,  as  the  mossy  bastions  of  Besangon  drifted 
from  her  horizon — she  was  journeying  up  alone,  Janet  stay 
ing  on  with  one  of  the  Saint  Berthe  women  as  chaperone.  "  It 
is  foolery  and  it  is  dull.  I  don't  see  how  grown-up  people 
endure  it,  unless  they've  never  known  any  better.  Yet  I  seem 
unable  to  content  myself  with  the  life  father  stands  for — and 
Dory."  She  appreciated  the  meaning  of  the  legend  of  the 

211 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

creature  with  the  two  bodies  and  the  two  wills,  each  always 
opposed  to  the  other,  with  the  result  that  all  motion  was  in  a 
dazing  circle  in  which  neither  wished  to  go.  "  Still,"  she  con 
cluded,  "  I  am  learning  " — which  was  the  truth ;  indeed,  she 
was  learning  with  astonishing  rapidity  for  a  girl  who  had  had 
such  an  insidiously  wrong  start  and  was  getting  but  slight 
encouragement. 

Dory,  of  course,  was  helping  her,  but  not  as  he  might.  In 
stead  of  bringing  to  bear  that  most  powerful  of  influences,  the 
influence  of  passionate  love,  he  held  to  his  stupid  compact  with 
his  supersensitive  self — the  compact  that  he  would  never  in 
trude  his  longings  upon  her.  He  constantly  reminded  himself 
how  often  woman  gives  through  a  sense  of  duty  or  through 
fear  of  alienating  or  wounding  one  she  respects  and  likes ;  and, 
so  he  saw  in  each  impulse  to  enter  Eden  boldly  a  temptation 
to  him  to  trespass,  a  temptation  to  her  to  mask  her  real  feel 
ings  and  suffer  it.  The  mystery  in  which  respectable  woman 
hood  is  kept  veiled  from  the  male,  has  bred  in  him  an  awe 
of  the  female  that  she  does  not  fully  realize  or  altogether 
approve — though  she  is  not  slow  to  advantage  herself  of  it. 
In  the  smaller  cities  and  towns  of  the  West,  this  awe  of 
respectable  womanhood  exists  in  a  degree  difficult  for  the  so 
phisticated  to  believe  possible,  unless  they  have  had  experience 
of  it.  Dory  had  never  had  that  familiarity  with  women  which 
breeds  knowledge  of  their,  absolute  and  unmysterious  human- 
ness.  Thus,  not  only  did  he  not  have  the  key  which  enables 
its  possessor  to  unlock  them ;  he  did  not  even  know  how  to  use 
it  when  Del  offered  it  to  him,  all  but  thrust  it  into  his  hand. 
Poor  Dory,  indeed — but  let  only  those  who  have  not  loved 
too  well  to  love  wisely  strut  at  his  expense  by  pitying  him; 
for,  in  matters  of  the  heart,  sophisticated  and  unsophisticated 
act  much  alike.  "  Men  would  dare  much  more,  if  they  knew 
what  women  think,"  says  George  Sand.  It  is  also  true 
that  the  men  who  dare  most,  who  win  most,  are  those  who  do 
not  stop  to  bother  about  what  the  women  think.  Thought 
does  not  yet  govern  the  world,  but  appetite  and  action — bold 
appetite  and  the  courage  of  it. 

212 


CHAPTER   XIX 

MADELENE 

O  give  himself,  journeyman  cooper,  the  feeling  of 
ease  and  equality,  Arthur  dressed,  with  long- 
discontinued   attention  to   detail,   from  his  ex 
tensive   wardrobe   which   the   eighteen    months 
since  its  last  accessions  had  not  impaired  or  an 
tiquated.    And,  in  the  twilight  of  an  early  Sep 
tember  evening,  he  went  forth  to  settle  the  matter  that  had 
become  the  most  momentous. 

There  is  in  dress  a  something  independent  of  material  and 
cut  and  even  of  the  individuality  of  the  wearer ;  there  is  a  spirit 
of  caste.  If  the  lady  dons  her  maid's  dress,  some  subtle  essence 
of  the  menial  permeates  her,  even  to  her  blood,  her  mind,  and 
heart.  The  maid,  in  madame's  dress,  putting  on  "  airs,"  is 
merely  giving  an  outlet  to  that  which  has  entered  into  her  from 
her  clothes.  Thus,  Arthur  assumed  again  with  his  "  grande 
toilette  "  the  feeling  of  the  caste  from  which  he  had  been  ejected. 
Madelene,  come  herself  to  open  the  door  for  him,  was  in  a  sum 
mer  dress  of  no  pretentions  to  style  other  than  that  which  her 
figure,  with  its  large,  free,  splendid  lines,  gave  whatever  she  hap 
pened  to  wear.  His  nerves,  his  blood,  responded  to  her  beauty, 
as  always;  her  hair,  her  features,  the  grace  of  the  movements 
of  that  strong,  slender,  supple  form,  gave  him  the  sense  of  her 
kinship  with  freedom  and  force  and  fire  and  all  things  keen 
and  bright.  But  stealthily  and  subtly  it  came  to  him,  in  this 
mood  superinduced  by  his  raiment,  that  in  marrying  her  he  was, 
after  all,  making  sacrifices — she  was  ascending  socially,  he  de 
scending,  condescending.  The  feeling  was  far  too  vague  to  be 
at  all  conscious;  it  is,  however,  just  those  hazy,  stealthy  feelings 

213 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

that  exert  the  most  potent  influence  upon  us.  When  the  strong 
are  conquered  is  it  not  always  by  feeble  forces  from  the  dark 
and  from  behind? 

"  You  have  had  good  news,"  said  Madelene,  when  they  were 
in  the  dim  daylight  on  the  creeper-screened  back  porch.  For 
such  was  her  generous  interpretation  of  his  expression  of  self- 
confidence  and  self-satisfaction. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  replied,  looking  away  reflectively.  "  But  I 
hope  for  it." 

There  wasn't  any  mistaking  the  meaning  of  that  tone;  she 
knew  what  was  coming.  She  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
there  softly  entered  and  pervaded  her  a  quiet,  enormous  content 
that  made  her  seem  the  crown  of  the  quiet  beauty  of  that  even 
ing  sky  whose  ocean  of  purple-tinted  crystal  stretched  away 
toward  the  shores  of  the  infinite. 

"  Madelene,"  he  began  in  a  self-conscious  voice,  "  you  know 
what  my  position  is,  and  what  I  get,  and  my  prospects.  But 
you  know  what  I  was,  too;  and  so,  I  feel  I've  the  right  to  ask: 
you  to  marry  me — to  wait  until  I  get  back  to  the  place  from 
which  I  had  to  come  down." 

The  light  was  fading  from  the  sky,  from  her  eyes,  from  her 
heart.  A  moment  before  he  had  been  there,  so  near  her,  so  at 
one  with  her;  now  he  was  far  away,  and  this  voice  she  heard 
wasn't  his  at  all.  And  his  words —  She  felt  alone  in  the  dark 
and  the  cold,  the  victim  of  a  cheat  upon  her  deepest  feelings. 

"  I  was  bitter  against  my  father  at  first,"  he  went  on.  "  But 
since  I  have  come  to  know  you  I  have  forgiven  him.  I  am 
grateful  to  him.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  what  he  did  I  might 
never  have  learned  to  appreciate  you,  to "  | 

"  Don't — please  \  "  she  said  in  the  tone  that  is  from  an  ach 
ing  heart.  "  Don't  say  any  more." 

Arthur  was  astounded.  He  looked  at  her  for  the  first  time 
since  he  began ;  instantly  fear  was  shaking  his  self-confidence  at 
its  foundations.  "  Madelene !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  know  that 
you  love  me !  " 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands — the  sight  of  them,  long  and 
narrow  and  strong,  filled  him  with  the  longing  to  seize  them, 

214 


MADELENE 


to  feel  the  throb  of  their  life  thrill  from  them  into  him,  troop 
through  and  through  him  like  victory-bringing  legions  into  a 
besieged  city.  But  her  broken  voice  stopped  him.  "  And  I 
thought  you  loved  me,"  she  said. 

"  You  know  I  do !  "  he  cried. 

She  was  silent. 

"  What  is  it,  Madelene?  "  he  implored.  "  What  has  come 
'between  us?  Does  your  father  object  because  I  am — am  not 
well  enough  off?  " 

She  dropped  her  hands  from  before  her  face  and  looked  at 
him.  The  first  time  he  saw  her  he  had  thought  she  was  severe ; 
ever  since  he  had  wondered  how  he  could  have  imagined  severity 
into  a  countenance  so  gentle  and  sweet.  Now  he  knew  that  his 
first  impression  was  not  imaginary;  for  she  had  again  the  ex 
pression  with  which  she  had  faced  the  hostile  world  of  Saint  X 
until  he,  his  love,  came  into  her  life.  "  It  is  I  that  must  ask 
you  what  has  changed  you,  Arthur,"  she  said,  more  in  sadness 
than  in  bitterness,  though  in  both.  "  I  don't  seem  to  know  you 
this  evening." 

Arthur  lost  the  last  remnant  of  his  self-consciousness.  He 
saw  he  was  about  to  lose,  if  indeed  he  had  not  already  lost,  that 
which  had  come  to  mean  life  to  him — the  happiness  from  this 
woman's  beauty,  the  strength  from  her  character,  the  sympathy 
from  her  mind  and  heart.  It  was  in  terror  that  he  asked : 
"  Why,  Madelene?  What  is  it?  What  have  I  done?  "  And 
in  dread  he  studied  her  firm,  regular  profile,  a  graceful  strength 
that  was  Greek,  and  so  wonderfully  completed  by  her  hair, 
blue  black  and  thick  and  wavy  about  the  temple  and  ear  and 
the  nape  of  the  neck. 

The  girl  did  not  answer  immediately;  he  thought  she  was 
refusing  to  hear,  yet  he  could  find  no  words  with  which  to 
try  to  stem  the  current  of  those  ominous  thoughts.  At  last 
she  said :  "  You  talk  about  the  position  you  have  '  come  down 
from  '  and  the  position  you  are  going  back  to — and  that  you 
are  grateful  to  your  father  for  having  brought  you  down  where 
you  were  humble  enough  to  find  me." 

"Madelene!" 

215 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"Wait!"  she  commanded.  "You  wish  to  know  what  is 
the  matter  with  me.  Let  me  tell  you.  We  didn't  receive  you 
here  because  you  are  a  cooper  or  because  you  had  been  rich. 
I  never  thought  about  your  position  or  your  prospects.  A  woman 
— at  least  a  woman  like  me — doesn't  love  a  man  for  his  position, 
doesn't  love  him  for  his  prospects.  I've  been  taking  you  at  just 
what  you  were — or  seemed  to  be.  And  you — you  haven't  come, 
asking  me  to  marry  you.  You  treat  me  like  one  of  those  silly 
women  in  what  they  call  '  society '  here  in  Saint  X.  You  ask 
me  to  wait  until  you  can  support  me  fashionably — I  who  am  not 
fashionable — and  who  will  always  support  myself.  What  you 
talked  isn't  what  I  call  love,  Arthur.  I  don't  want  to  hear 
any  more  about  it — or,  we  might  not  be  able  to  be  even  friends." 

She  paused ;  but  Arthur  could  not  reply.  To  deny  was  im 
possible,  and  he  had  no  wish  to  attempt  to  make  excuses.  She 
had  shown  him  to  himself,  and  he  could  only  echo  her  just 
scorn. 

"  As  for  waiting,"  she  went  on,  "  I  am  sure,  from  what 
you  say,  that  if  you  ever  got  back  in  the  lofty  place  of  a  parasite 
living  idly  and  foolishly  on  what  you  abstracted  from  the  labor 
of  others,  you'd  forget  me — just  as  your  rich  friends  have  for 
gotten  you."  She  laughed  bitterly.  "  O  Arthur,  Arthur, 
what  a  fraud  you  are!  Here,  I've  been  admiring  your  fine  talk 
about  your  being  a  laborer,  about  what  you'd  do  if  you  ever 
got  the  power.  And  it  was  all  simply  envy  and  jealousy  and 
trying  to  make  yourself  believe  you  weren't  so  low  down  in 
the  social  scale  as  you  thought  you  were.  You're  too  fine  a 
gentleman  for  Madelene  Schulze,  Arthur.  Wait  till  you  get 
back  your  lost  paradise;  then  take  a  wife  who  gives  her  heart 
only  where  her  vanity  permits.  You  don't  want  me,  and  I — 
don't  want  you !  " 

Her  voice  broke  there.  With  a  cry  that  might  have  been  her 
name  or  just  an  inarticulate  call  from  his  heart  to  hers,  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  she  was  sobbing  against  his  shoulder. 
"  You  can't  mean  it,  Madelene,"  he  murmured,  holding  her 
tight  and  kissing  her  cheek,  her  hair,  her  ear.  "  You  don't 

216 


MADELENE 


"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  she  sobbed.    "  But— I  love  you,  too." 

"  Then  everything  else  will  straighten  out  of  itself.  Help 
me,  Madelene.  Help  me  to  be  what  we  both  wish  me  to  be — 
what  I  can't  help  being,  with  you  by  my  side." 

When  a  vanity  of  superiority  rests  on  what  used  to  be,  it 
dies  much  harder  than  when  it  rests  upon  what  is.  But  Arthur's 
self-infatuation,  based  though  it  was  on  the  "  used-to-be,"  then 
and  there  crumbled  and  vanished  forever.  Love  cleared  his 
sight  in  an  instant,  where  reason  would  have  striven  in  vain 
against  the  stubborn  prejudices  of  snobbism.  Madelene's  in 
stinct  had  searched  out  the  false  ring  in  his  voice  and  manner; 
it  was  again  instinct  that  assured  her  all  was  now  well.  And 
she  straightway,  and  without  hesitation  from  coquetry  or  doubt, 
gave  herself  frankly  to  the  happiness  of  the  love  that  knows  it 
is  returned  in  kind  and  in  degree. 

"  Yes,  everything  else  will  come  right,"  she  said.  "  For  you 
are  strong,  Arthur." 

"  I  shall  be,"  was  his  reply,  as  he  held  her  closer.  "  Do  I 
not  love  a  woman  who  believes  in  me?" 

"  And  who  believes  because  she  knows."  She  drew  away 
to  look  at  him.  "You  are  like  your  father!  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  love,  how  rich  he  made  you — and  me !  " 

At  breakfast,  the  next  morning,  he  broke  the  news  to  his 
mother.  Instead  of  returning  his  serene  and  delighted  look 
she  kept  her  eyes  on  her  plate  and  was  ominously  silent. 
"  When  you  are  w^ell  acquainted  with  her,  mother,  you'll  love 
her,"  he  said.  He  knew  what  she  was  thinking — Dr.  Schulze's 
"  unorthodox  "  views,  to  put  it  gently ;  the  notorious  fact  that 
his  daughters  did  not  frown  on  them;  the  family's  absolute 
lack  of  standing  from  the  point  of  view  of  reputable  Saint  X. 

"  Well,"  said  his  mother  finally,  and  without  looking  at 
her  big,  handsome  son,  "  I  suppose  you're  set  on  it." 

"  Set — that's  precisely  the  word,"  replied  Arthur.  "  We're 
only  waiting  for  your  consent  and  her  father's." 

"  I  ain't  got  anything  to  do  writh  it,"  said  she,  with  a  pa 
thetic  attempt  at  a  smile.  "  Nor  the  old  doctor,  either,  judging 
15  217 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

by  the  look  of  the  young  lady's  eyes  and  chin.     I  never  thought 
you'd  take  to  a  strong-minded  woman." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  her  weak-minded,  would  you, 
mother?" 

11  There's  something  between." 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  There's  the  woman  whose  mind  is  weak 
when  it  ought  to  be  strong,  and  strong  when  it  ought  to  be 
weak.  I  decided  for  one  like  you,  mother  dear — one  that  would 
cure  me  of  foolishness  and  keep  me  cured." 

"A  female  doctor!" 

Arthur  laughed.  "  And  she's  going  to  practice,  mother. 
We  shouldn't  have  enough  to  live  on  with  only  what  I'd  make 
— or  am  likely  to  make  anyway  soon." 

Mrs.   Ranger  lifted  her   drooping   head   in   sudden  panic. 

"  Why,  you'll  live  here,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Arthur,  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  hadn't  thought  where  they  would  live.  He  hastened  to  add, 
"  Only  we've  got  to  pay  board." 

"  I  guess  we  won't  quarrel  about  that,"  said  the  old  woman, 
so  immensely  relieved  that  she  was  almost  resigned  to  the  pros 
pect  of  a  Schulze,  a  strong-minded  Schulze  and  a  practicing 
female  doctor,  as  a  daughter-in-law. 

"  Madelene  is  coming  up  to  see  you  this  morning,"  con 
tinued  Arthur.  "  I  know  you'll  make  her — welcome."  This 
wistfully,  for  he  was  now  awake  to  the  prejudices  his  mother 
must  be  fighting. 

"  I'll  have  the  horses  hitched  up,  and  go  and  see  her,"  said 
Ellen,  promptly.  "  She's  a  good  girl.  Nobody  could  ever  say 
a  word  against  her  character,  and  that's  the  main  thing."  She 
began  to  contrast  Madelene  and  Janet,  and  the  situation  bright 
ened.  At  least,  she  was  getting  a  daughter-in-law  whom  she 
could  feel  at  ease  with,  and  for  whom  she  could  have  respect, 
possibly  even  liking  of  a  certain  reserved  kind. 

"  I  suggested  that  you'd  come,"  Arthur  was  replying.  "  But 
Madelene  said  she'd  prefer  to  come  to  you.  She  thinks  it's  her 
place,  whether  it's  etiquette  or  not.  We're  not  going  to  go  in 
for  etiquette — Madelene  and  I." 

218 


MADELENE 


Mrs.  Ranger  looked  amused.  This  from  the  young  man 
who  had  for  years  been  "  picking  "  at  her  because  she  was  un 
conventional !  "People  will  misunderstand  you,  mother,"  had 
been  his  oft-repeated  polite  phrase.  She  couldn't  resist  a  mild 
revenge.  "  People'll  misunderstand,  if  she  comes.  They'll 
think  she's  running  after  me." 

Like  all  renegades,  the  renegades  from  the  religion  of  con 
ventionality  are  happiest  when  they  are  showing  their  contempt 
for  that  before  which  they  once  knelt.  "  Let  'em  think,"  re 
torted  Arthur  cheerfully.  "  I'll  telephone  her  it's  all  right," 
he  said,  as  he  rose  from  the  table,  "  and  she'll  be  up  here  about 
eleven." 

And  exactly  at  eleven  she  came,  not  a  bit  self-conscious  or 
confused.  Mrs.  Ranger  looked  up  at  her — she  was  more  than  a 
head  the  taller — and  found  a  pair  of  eyes  she  thought  finest  of 
all  for  their  honesty  looking  down  into  hers.  "  I  reckon  we've 
got — to  kiss,"  said  she,  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  I  reckon  so,"  said  Madelene,  kissing  her,  and  then,  after 
a  glance  and  an  irresistible  smile,  kissing  her  again.  "  You  were 
awfully  put  out  when  Arthur  told  you,  weren't  you?  " 

"  Well,  you  know,  the  saying  is  '  A  bad  beginning  makes  a 
good  ending,'  "  said  Ellen.  "  Since  there  was  only  Arthur  left 
to  me,  I  hadn't  been  calculating  on  a  daughter-in-law  to  come 
and  take  him  away." 

Madelene  felt  what  lay  behind  that  timid,  subtle  statement 
of  the  case.  Her  face  shadowed.  She  had  been  picturing  a  life, 
a  home,  with  just  Arthur  and  herself ;  here  was  a  far  different 
prospect  opening  up.  But  Mrs.  Ranger  was  waiting,  expectant; 
she  must  be  answered.  "  I  couldn't  take  him  away  from  you," 
Madelene  said.  "  I'd  only  lose  him  myself  if  I  tried." 

Tears  came  into  Ellen's  eyes  and  her  hands  clasped  in  her 
lap  to  steady  their  trembling.  "  I  know  how  it  is,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  an  old  woman,  and  " — with  an  appeal  for  contradiction 
that  went  straight  to  Madelene's  heart — "  I'm  afraid  I'd  be 
in  the  way?  " 

"In  the  way!"  cried  Madelene.  "Why,  you're  the  only 
one  that  can  teach  me  how  to  take  care  of  him.  He  says  you've 

219 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

always  taken  care  of  him,  and  I  suppose  he's  too  old  now  to 
learn  how  to  look  after  himself." 

"  You  wouldn't  mind  coming  here  to  live  ?  "  asked  Ellen 
humbly.  She  hardly  dared  speak  out  thus  plainly;  but  she  felt 
that  never  again  would  there  be  such  a  good  chance  of  success. 

It  was  full  a  minute  before  Madelene  could  trust  her  voice 
to  make  reply,  not  because  she  hesitated  to  commit  herself,  but 
because  she  was  moved  to  the  depths  of  her  tender  heart  by 
this  her  first  experience  of  about  the  most  tragic  of  the  every 
day  tragedies  in  human  life — a  lone  old  woman  pleading  with 
a  young  one  for  a  little  corner  to  sit  in  and  wait  for  death. 
"  I  wish  it  weren't  quite  such  a  grand  house,"  she  said  at  last 
with  a  look  at  the  old  woman — how  old  she  seemed  just  then! 
— a  look  that  was  like  light.  "  We're  too  poor  to  have  the 
right  to  make  any  such  start.  But,  if  you'd  let  me — if  you're 
sure  you  wouldn't  think  me  an  intruder — I'd  be  glad  to  come." 

"  Then  that's  settled,"  said  Mrs.  Ranger,  with  a  deep  sigh 
of  relief.  But  her  head  and  her  hands  were  still  trembling 
from  the  nervous  shock  of  the  suspense,  the  danger  that  she 
would  be  left  childless  and  alone.  "  We'll  get  along  once 
you're  used  to  the  idea  of  having  me  about.  I  know  my  place. 
I  never  was  a  great  hand  at  meddling.  You'll  hardly  know 
I'm  around." 

Again  Madelene  had  the  choke  in  her  throat,  the  ache  at  the 
heart.  "  But  you  wouldn't  throw  the  care  of  this  house  on 
my  hands!"  she  exclaimed  in  well-pretended  dismay.  "  Oh, 
no,  you've  simply  got  to  look  after  things!  Why,  I  was  even 
counting  on  your  helping  me  with  my  practice." 

Ellen  Ranger  thrilled  with  a  delight  such  as  she  had  not  had 
in  many  a  year — the  matchless  delight  of  a  new  interest.  Her 
mother  had  been  famous  throughout  those  regions  in  the  pio 
neer  days  for  skill  at  "  yarbs  "  and  at  nursing,  and  had  taught 
her  a  great  deal.  But  she  had  had  small  chance  to  practice,  she 
and  her  husband  and  her  children  being  all  and  always  so 
healthy.  All  those  years  she  had  had  to  content  herself  with 
thinking  and  talking  of  hypothetical  cases  and  with  commenting, 
visually  rather  severely,  upon  the  conduct  of  every  case  in  the 

220 


MADELENE 


town  of  which  she  heard.  Now,  in  her  old  age,  just  as  she 
was  feeling  that  she  had  no  longer  an  excuse  for  being  alive, 
here,  into  her  very  house,  was  coming  a  career  for  her,  and 
it  the  career  of  which  she  had  always  dreamed! 

She  forgot  about  the  marriage  and  its  problems,  and  plunged 
at  once  into  an  exposition  of  her  views  of  medicine — her  hos 
tility  to  the  allopaths,  with  their  huge,  fierce  doses  of  dreadful 
poisons  that  had  ruined  most  of  the  teeth  and  stomachs  in  the 
town;  her  disdain  of  the  homeopaths,  with  their  petty  pills  and 
their  silly  notion  that  the  hair  of  the  dog  would  cure  its  bite. 
She  was  all  for  the  medicine  of  nature  and  common  sense ;  and 
Madelene,  able  honestly  to  assent,  rose  in  her  esteem  by  leaps 
and  bounds.  Before  the  end  of  that  conversation  Mrs.  Ranger 
was  convinced  that  she  had  always  believed  the  doctors  should 
be  women.  "  Who  understands  a  woman  but  a  woman?  Who 
understands  a  child  but  a  woman?  And  what's  a  man  when 
he's  sick  but  a  child  ?  "  She  was  impatient  for  the  marriage. 
And  when  Madelene  asked  if  she'd  object  to  having  a  small 
doctor's  sign  somewhere  on  the  front  fence,  she  looked  as 
tounded  at  the  question.  "  We  must  do  better  than  that,"  she 
said.  "  I'll  have  you  an  office — just  two  or  three  rooms — built 
down  by  the  street  so  as  to  save  people  coming  clear  up  here. 
That'd  lose  you  many  a  customer." 

"  Yes,  it  might  lose  us  a  good  many,"  said  Madelene,  and 
you'd  never  have  thought  the  "  us  "  deliberate. 

That  capped  the  climax.  Mrs.  Ranger  was  her  new  daugh 
ter's  thenceforth.  And  Madelene  went  away,  if  possible  happier 
than  when  she  and  Arthur  had  straightened  it  all  out  between 
themselves  the  night  before.  Had  she  not  lifted  that  fine  old 
woman  up  from  the  grave  upon  which  she  was  wearily  lying, 
waiting  for  death  ?  Had  she  not  made  her  happy  by  giving  her 
something  to  live  for?  Something  to  live  for!  "She  looked 
years  younger  immediately,"  thought  Madelene.  "  That's  the 
secret  of  happiness — something  to  live  for,  something  real  and 
useful." 

"  I  never  thought  you'd  find  anybody  good  enough  for  you," 

221 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

said  Mrs.  Ranger  to  her  son  that  evening.  "  But  you  have. 
She's  got  a  heart  and  a  head  both — and  most  of  the  women 
nowadays  ain't  got  much  of  either." 

And  it  was  that  night  as  Ellen  was  saying  her  prayers,  that 
she  asked  God  to  forgive  her  the  sin  of  secret  protest  she  had 
let  live  deep  in  a  dark  corner  of  her  heart — reproach  of  Hiram 
for  having  cut  off  their  son.  "  It  was  for  the  best,"  she  said. 
"  I  see  it  now." 


222 


CHAPTER   XX 
LORRY'S  ROMANCE 

HEN  Charles  Whitney  heard  Arthur  was  about 
to  be  married,  he  offered  him  a  place  on  the 
office  staff  of  the  Ranger-Whitney  Company  at 
fifteen  hundred  a  year.  "  It  is  less  than  you 
deserve  on  your  record,"  he  wrote,  "  but  there 
is  no  vacancy  just  now,  and  you  shall  go  up 
rapidly.  I  take  this  opportunity  to  say  that  I  regard  your 
father's  will  as  the  finest  act  of  the  finest  man  I  ever  knew,  and 
that  your  conduct,  since  he  left  us,  is  a  vindication  of  his  wisdom. 
America  has  gone  stark  mad  on  the  subject  of  money.  The 
day  is  not  far  distant  when  it  has  got  to  decide  whether  property 
shall  rule  work  or  work  shall  rule  property.  Your  father  was 
a  courageous  pioneer.  All  right-thinking  men  honor  him." 

This,  a  fortnight  after  his  return  from  Europe,  from  marry 
ing  Janet  to  Aristide,  Viscount  Brunais.  He  had  yielded  to  his 
secret  snobbishness — Matilda  thought  it  was  her  diplomacy — 
and  had  given  Janet  a  dowry  so  extravagant  that  when  old  Saint 
Berthe  heard  the  figures,  he  took  advantage  of  the  fact  that  only 
the  family  lawyer  was  present  to  permit  a  gleam  of  nature  to 
show  through  his  mask  of  elegant  indifference  to  the  "  coarse 
side  of  life."  Whitney  had  the  American  good  sense  to  de 
spise  his  wife,  his  daughter,  and  himself  for  the  transaction.  For 
years  furious  had  been  his  protestations  to  his  family,  to  his 
acquaintances,  and  to  himself  against  "  society,"  and  especially 
against  the  incursions  of  that  "  worm-eaten  titled  crowd  from 
the  other  side."  So  often  had  he  repeated  those  protests  that 
certain  phrases  had  become  fixedly  part  of  his  conversation,  to 
make  the  most  noise  when  he  was  violently  agitated,  as  do  the 

223 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

dead  leaves  of  a  long-withered  but  still  firmly  attached  bough. 
Thus  he  was  regarded  in  Chicago  as  an  American  of  the  old 
type ;  but  being  human,  his  strength  had  not  been  strong  enough 
to  resist  the  taint  in  the  atmosphere  he  had  breathed  ever  since 
he  began  to  be  very  rich  and  to  keep  the  company  of  the  pre 
tentious.  His  originally  sound  constitution  had  been  gradually 
undermined,  just  as  "  doing  like  everybody  else " — that  is, 
everybody  in  his  set  of  pirates  disguised  under  merchant  flag 
and  with  a  few  deceptive  bales  of  goods  piled  on  deck — had 
undermined  his  originally  sound  business  honor. 

Arthur  answered,  thanking  him  for  the  offered  position,  but 
declining  it.  "  What  you  say  about  my  work,"  he  wrote,  "  en 
courages  me  to  ask  a  favor.  I  wish  to  be  transferred  from  one 
mechanical  department  to  another  until  I  have  made  the  round. 
Then,  perhaps,  I  may  venture  to  ask  you  to  renew  your 
offer." 

Whitney  showed  this  to  Ross.  "  Now,  there's  the  sort  of 
son  I'd  be  proud  of !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Ross  lifted  his  eyebrows.     "  Really!  "  said  he.     "  Why?  " 

"  Because  he's  a  man"  retorted  his  father,  with  obvious  in 
tent  of  satirical  contrast.  "  Because  within  a  year  or  two  he'll 
know  the  business  from  end  to  end — as  his  father  did — as  I  do." 

"And  what  good  will  that  do  him?"  inquired  Ross,  with 
fine  irony.  "  You  know  it  isn't  in  the  manufacturing  end  that 
the  money's  made  nowadays.  We  can  hire  hundreds  of  good 
men  to  manufacture  for  us.  I  should  say  he'd  be  wiser  were 
he  trying  to  get  a  practical  education." 

"Practical!" 

"  Precisely.  Studying  how  to  stab  competitors  in  the  back 
and  establish  monopoly.  As  a  manager,  he  may  some  day  rise 
to  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  a  year — unless  managers'  salaries  go 
down,  as  it's  likely  they  will.  As  a  financier,  he  might  rise  to 
— to  our  class." 

Whitney  grunted,  the  frown  of  his  brows  and  the  smile  on 
his  sardonic  mouth  contradicting  each  other.  He  could  not 
but  be  pleased  by  the  shrewdness  of  his  son's  criticism  of  his 
own  half-sincere,  half-hypocritical  tribute  to  virtues  that  were 

224 


LORRY'S    ROMANCE 


on  the  wane;  but  at  the  same  time  he  did  not  like  such  frank 
expression  of  cynical  truth  from  a  son  of  his.  Also,  he  at  the 
bottom  still  had  some  of  the  squeamishness  that  was  born  into 
him  and  trained  into  him  in  early  youth;  he  did  not  like  to  be 
forced  squarely  to  face  the  fact  that  real  business  had  been  rele 
gated  to  the  less  able  or  less  honest,  wThile  the  big  rewards  of 
riches  and  respect  were  for  the  sly  and  stealthy.  Enforcing 
what  Ross  had  said,  there  came  into  his  mind  the  reflection  that 
he  himself  had  just  bribed  through  the  Legislature,  for  a  com 
paratively  trifling  sum,  a  law  that  would  swell  his  fortune 
and  income  within  the  next  five  years  more  than  would  a  life 
time  of  devotion  to  business. 

He  would  have  been  irritated  far  more  deeply  had  he  known 
that  Arthur  was  as  well  aware  of  the  change  from  the  old 
order  as  was  Ross,  and  that  deliberately  and  on  principle  he 
was  refusing  to  adapt  himself  to  the  new  order,  the  new  con 
ditions  of  "  success."  When  Arthur's  manliness  first  asserted 
itself,  there  was  perhaps  as  much  of  vanity  as  of  pride  in  his 
acceptance  of  the  consequences  of  Hiram's  will.  But  to  an 
intelligent  man  any  environment,  except  one  of  inaction  or  futile 
action,  soon  becomes  interesting;  the  coming  of  Madelene  was 
all  that  was  needed  to  raise  his  interest  to  enthusiasm.  He  soon 
understood  his  fellow-workers  as  few  of  them  understood  them 
selves.  Every  human  group,  of  whatever  size  or  kind,  is  apt 
to  think  its  characteristics  peculiar  to  itself,  when  in  fact  they 
are  as  universal  as  human  nature,  and  the  modifications  due  to 
the  group's  environment  are  insignificant  matters  of  mere  sur 
face.  Nationality,  trade,  class  no  more  affect  the  oneness  of 
mankind  than  do  the  ocean's  surface  variations  of  color  or 
weather  affect  its  unchangeable  chemistry.  Waugh,  who  had 
risen  from  the  ranks,  Howells,  who  had  begun  as  shipping  clerk, 
despised  those  above  whom  they  had  risen,  regarded  as  the  pe 
culiar  weaknesses  of  the  working  classes  such  universal  failings 
as  prejudice,  short-sightedness,  and  shirking.  They  lost  no  op 
portunity  to  show  their  lack  of  sympathy  with  the  class  from 
which  they  had  sprung  and  to  wrhich  they  still  belonged  in  real 
ity,  their  devotion  to  the  class  plutocratic  to  which  they  aspired. 

225 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Arthur,  in  losing  the  narrowness  of  the  class  from  which  he  had 
been  ejected,  lost  all  class  narrowness.  The  graduates  from  the 
top  have  the  best  chance  to  graduate  into  the  wide,  wide  world 
of  human  brotherhood.  By  an  artificial  process — by  compulsion, 
vanity,  reason,  love — he  became  what  Madelene  was  by  nature. 
She  was  one  of  those  rare  human  beings  born  with  a  just  and 
clear  sense  of  proportion.  It  was  thus  impossible  for  her  to 
exaggerate  into  importance  the  trivial  differences  of  mental 
stature.  She  saw  that  they  were  no  greater  than  the  differences 
of  men's  physical  stature,  if  men  be  compared  with  mountains  or 
any  other  just  measure  of  the  vast  scale  on  which  the  universe  is 
constructed.  And  so  it  came  naturally  to  her  to  appreciate  that 
the  vital  differences  among  men  are  matters  of  character  and 
usefulness,  just  as  among  things  they  are  matters  of  beauty  and 
use. 

Arthur's  close  friend  was  now  Laurent  Tague,  a  young 
cooper — huge,  deep-chested,  tawny,  slow  of  body  and  swift  of 
mind.  They  had  been  friends  as  boys  at  school.  When  Arthur 
came  home  from  Exeter  from  his  first  long  vacation,  their 
friendship  had  been  renewed  after  a  fashion,  then  had  ended 
abruptly  in  a  quarrel  and  a  pitched  battle,  from  which  neither 
had  emerged  victor,  both  leaving  the  battle  ground  exhausted 
and  anguished  by  a  humiliating  sense  of  defeat.  From  that 
time  Laurent  had  been  a  "  damned  mucker  "  to  Arthur,  Arthur 
a  "  stuck-up  smart  Alec  "  to  Laurent.  The  renewal  of  the 
friendship  dated  from  the  accident  to  Arthur's  hand ;  it  rapidly 
developed  as  he  lost  the  sense  of  patronizing  Laurent,  and  as 
Laurent  for  his  part  lost  the  suspicion  that  Arthur  was  secretly 
patronizing  him.  Then  Arthur  discovered  that  Lorry  had, 
several  years  before,  sent  for  a  catalogue  of  the  University  of 
Michigan,  had  selected  a  course  leading  to  the  B.S.  degree,  had 
bought  the  necessary  text-books,  had  studied  as  men  work  only 
at  that  which  they  love  for  its  own  sake  and  not  for  any  ad 
vantage  to  be  got  from  it.  His  father,  a  captain  of  volunteers 
in  the  Civil  War,  was  killed  in  the  Wilderness ;  his  mother  was 
a  washerwoman.  His  father's  father — Jean  Montague,  the 
first  blacksmith  of  Saint  X — had  shortened  the  family  name. 

226 


LORRY'S    ROMANCE 


In  those  early,  nakedly  practical  days,  long  names  and  difficult 
names,  such  as  naturally  develop  among  peoples  of  leisure,  were 
ruthlessly  taken  to  the  chopping  block  by  a  people  among  whom 
a  man's  name  was  nothing  in  itself,  was  simply  a  convenience 
for  designating  him.  Everybody  called  Jean  Montague  "  Jim 
Tague,"  and  pronounced  the  Tague  in  one  syllable;  wrhen  he 
finally  acquiesced  in  the  sensible,  popular  decision,  from  which 
he  could  not  well  appeal,  his  very  children  were  unaware  that 
they  were  Montagues. 

Arthur  told  Lorry  of  his  engagement  to  Madelene  an  hour 
after  he  told  his  mother — he  and  Lorry  were  heading  a  barrel  as 
they  talked.  This  supreme  proof  of  friendship  moved  Laurent 
to  give  proof  of  appreciation.  That  evening  he  and  Arthur 
took  a  walk  to  the  top  of  Reservoir  Hill,  to  see  the  sun  set 
and  the  moon  rise.  It  was  under  the  softening  and  expand 
ing  influence  of  the  big,  yellow  moon  upon  the  hills  and  valleys 
and  ghostly  river  that  Laurent  told  his  secret — a  secret  that  in 
the  mere  telling,  and  still  more  in  itself,  was  to  have  a  profound 
influence  upon  the  persons  of  this  narrative. 

"  When  I  was  at  school,"  he  began,  "  you  may  remember 
I  used  to  carry  the  washing  to  and  fro  for  mother." 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur.  He  remembered  how  he  liked  to  slip 
away  from  home  and  help  Lorry  with  the  big  baskets. 

"  Well,  one  of  the  places  I  used  to  go  to  was  old  Preston 
Wilmot's;  they  had  a  little  money  left  in  those  days  and  used 
to  hire  mother  now  and  then." 

"  So  the  Wilmots  owe  her,  too,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  laugh. 
The  universal  indebtedness  of  the  most  aristocratic  family  in 
Saint  X  was  the  town  joke. 

Lorry  smiled.  "  Yes,  but  she  don't  know  it,"  he  replied. 
"  I  used  to  do  all  her  collecting  for  her.  When  the  Wilmots 
quit  paying,  I  paid  for  'em — out  of  money  I  made  at  odd  jobs. 
I  paid  for  'em  for  over  two  years.  Then,  one  evening — Estelle 
Wilmot " — Lorry  paused  before  this  name,  lingered  on  it, 
paused  after  it — "  said  to  me — she  waylaid  me  at  the  back  gate 
— I  always  had  to  go  in  and  out  by  the  alley  way — no  wash 
by  the  front  gate  for  them !  Anyhow,  she  stopped  me  and  said 

227 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

— all  red  and  nervous — '  You  mustn't  come  for  the  wash  any 
more.' 

'  Why  not ?  '  says  I.    '  Is  the  family  complaining?  ' 
! '  No,'  says  she,  '  but  we  owe  you  for  two  years.' 

"'What  makes  you  think  that?'  said  I,  astonished  and 
pretty  badly  scared  for  the  minute. 

:  '  I've  kept  account,'  she  said.  And  she  was  fiery  red.  '  I 
keep  a  list  of  all  we  owe,  so  as  to  have  it  when  we're  able  to 
pay.' ': 

"  What  a  woman  she  is!  "  exclaimed  Arthur.  "  I  suppose 
she's  putting  by  out  of  the  profits  of  that  little  millinery  store 
of  hers  to  pay  off  the  family  debts.  I  hear  she's  doing  well." 

"  A  smashing  business,"  replied  Lorry,  in  a  tone  that  made 
Arthur  glance  quickly  at  him.  "  But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  being 
a  young  fool  and  frightened  out  of  my  wits,  said  to  her :  *  You 
don't  owe  mother  a  cent,  Miss  Estelle.  It's  all  been  settled — 
except  a  few  weeks  lately.  I'm  collecting  and  I  ought  to 
know.' 

"  I  ain't  much  of  a  hand  at  lying,  and  she  saw  straight 
through  me.  I  guess  what  was  going  on  in  her  head  helped  her, 
for  she  looked  as  if  she  was  about  to  faint.  '  It's  mighty  little 
for  me  to  do,  to  get  to  see  you,'  I  went  on.  '  It's  my  only 
chance.  Your  people  would  never  let  me  in  at  the  front  gate. 
And  seeing  you  is  the  only  thing  I  care  about.'  Then  I  set 
down  the  washbasket  and,  being  desperate,  took  courage  and 
looked  straight  at  her.  *  And,'  said  I,  *  I've  noticed  that  for 
the  last  year  you  always  make  a  point  of  being  on  hand  to  give 
me  the  wash.' ': 

Somehow  a  lump  came  in  Arthur's  throat  just  then.  He 
gave  his  Herculeslike  friend  a  tremendous  clap  on  the  knee. 
"  Good  for  you,  Lorry!  "  he  cried.  "  That  was  the  talk!  " 

"  It  was,"  replied  Lorry.  "  Well,  she  got  red  again,  where 
she  had  been  white  as  a  dogwood  blossom,  and  she  hung  her 
head.  '  You  don't  deny  it,  do  you  ?  '  said  I.  She  didn't  make 
any  answer.  '  It  wasn't  altogether  to  ask  me  how  I  was  getting 
on  with  my  college  course,  was  it,  Miss  Estelle?'  And  she 
said  c  No  '  so  low  that  I  had  to  guess  at  it." 

228 


LORRY'S    ROMANCE 


Lorry  suspended  his  story.  He  and  Arthur  sat  looking  at 
the  moon.  Finally  Arthur  asked,  rather  huskily,  "  Is  that  the 
end,  Lorry?  " 

Lorry's  keen,  indolent  face  lit  up  with  an  absent  and  tender 
?mile.  "  That  was  the  end  of  the  beginning,"  replied  he. 

Arthur  thrilled  and  resisted  a  feminine  instinct  to  put  his 
arm  round  his  friend.  "  I  don't  know  which  of  you  is  the  luck 
ier,"  he  said. 

Lorry  laughed.  "  You're  always  envying  me  my  good  dis 
position,"  he  went  on.  "  Now,  I've  given  away  the  secret  of 
it.  Who  isn't  happy  \vhen  he's  got  what  he  wants — heaven 
without  the  bother  of  dying  first?  I  drop  into  her  store  two 
evenings  a  week  to  see  her.  I  can't  stay  long  or  people  wrould 
talk.  Then  I  see  her  now  and  again — other  places.  We  have 
to  be  careful — mighty  careful." 

"  You  must  have  been,"  said  Arthur.  "  I  never  heard  a 
hint  of  this;  and  if  anyone  suspected,  the  whole  town  would 
be  talking." 

"  I  guess  the  fact  that  she's  a  Wilmot  has  helped  us.  Who'd 
ever  suspect  a  Wilmot  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  Why  not?  "  said  Arthur.     "  She  couldn't  do  better." 

Lorry  looked  amused.  "  What'd  you  have  said  a  fewT  months 
ago,  Ranger?  " 

"  But  my  father  was  a  workingman." 

"  That  was  a  long  time  ago,"  Lorry  reminded  him.  "  That 
was  when  America  used  to  be  American.  Anyhow,  she  and  I 
don't  care,  except  about  the  mother.  You  know  the  old  lady 
isn't  strong,  especially  the  last  year  or  so.  It  wouldn't  exactly 
improve  her  health  to  know  there  was  anything  between  her 
daughter  and  a  washerwoman's  son,  a  plain  workingman  at  that. 
We — Estelle  and  I — don't  want  to  be  responsible  for  any  harm 
to  her.  So — we're  waiting." 

"  But  there's  the  old  gentleman,  and  Arden — and  Verbena!  " 

Lorry's  cheerfulness  was  not  ruffled  by  this  marshaling  of 
the  full  and  formidable  Wilmot  array.  "  It'd  be  a  pleasure  to 
Estelle  to  give  them  a  shock,  especially  Verbena.  Did  you  ever 
see  Verbena's  hands?" 

229 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"I  don't  think  so,"  replied  Arthur;  "but,  of  course,  I've 
heard  of  them." 

"  Did  you  know  she  wouldn't  even  take  hold  of  a  knob  to 
open  a  door,  for  fear  of  stretching  them  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  lady,  sure." 

"Well,  Estelle's  not,  thank  God!"  exclaimed  Lorry. 
"  She  says  one  of  her  grandmothers  was  the  daughter  of  a  fellow 
who  kept  a  kind  of  pawn  shop,  and  that  she's  a  case  of  atavism." 

"  But,  Lorry,"  said  Arthur,  letting  his  train  of  thought 
come  to  the  surface,  "  this  ought  to  rouse  your  ambition.  You 
could  get  anywhere  you  liked.  To  win  her,  I  should  think 
you'd  exert  yourself  at  the  factory  as  you  did  at  home  when 
you  were  going  through  Ann  Arbor." 

"  To  win  her — perhaps  I  would,"  replied  Lorry.  "  But, 
you  see,  I've  won  her.  I'm  satisfied  with  my  position.  I  make 
enough  for  us  two  to  live  on  as  well  as  any  sensible  person'd 
care  to  live.  I've  got  four  thousand  dollars  put  by,  and  I'm 
insured  for  ten  thousand,  and  mother's  got  twelve  thousand  at 
interest  that  she  saved  out  of  the  washing.  I  like  to  live.  They 
made  me  assistant  foreman  once,  but  I  was  no  good  at  it.  I 
couldn't  *  speed  '  the  men.  It  seemed  to  me  they  got  a  small 
enough  part  of  what  they  earned,  no  matter  how  little  they 
worked.  Did  you  ever  think,  it  takes  one  of  us  only  about  a 
day  to  make  enough  barrels  to  pay  his  week's  wages,  and  that 
he  has  to  donate  the  other  five  days'  work  for  the  privilege  of 
being  allowed  to  live?  If  I  rose  I'd  be  living  off  those  five 
days  of  stolen  labor.  Somehow  I  don't  fancy  doing  it.  So  I 
do  my  ten  hours  a  day,  and  have  evenings  and  Sundays  for  the 
things  I  like." 

"  Doesn't  Estelle  try  to  spur  you  on  ?  " 

"  She  used  to,  but  she  soon  came  round  to  my  point  of  view. 
She  saw  what  I  meant,  and  she  hasn't,  any  more  than  I,  the 
fancy  for  stealing  time  from  being  somebody,  to  use  it  in  making 
fools  think  and  say  you're  somebody,  when  you  ain't." 

"  It'd  be  a  queer  world  if  everybody  were  like  you." 

"  It'd  be  a  queer  world  if  everybody  were  like  any  particular 
person,"  retorted  Lorry. 

230 


LORRY'S    ROMANCE 


Arthur's  mind  continually  returned  to  this  story,  to  revolve 
it,  to  find  some  new  suggestion  as  to  what  was  stupid  or  savage 
or  silly  in  the  present  social  system,  as  to  what  would  be  the 
social  system  of  to-morrow,  which  is  to  to-day's  as  to-day's  is  to 
yesterday's;  for  Lorry  and  Dr.  Schulze  and  Madelene  and  his 
own  awakened  mind  had  lifted  him  out  of  the  silly  current 
notion  that  mankind  is  never  going  to  grow  any  more,  but  will 
wear  its  present  suit  of  social  clothes  forever,  will  always  creep 
and  totter  and  lisp,  will  never  learn  to  walk  and  to  talk.  He 
was  in  the  habit  of  passing  Estelle's  shop  twice  each  day — early 
in  the  morning,  when  she  was  opening,  again  when  the  day's 
business  was  over;  and  he  had  often  fancied  he  could  see  in 
her  evening  expression  how  the  tide  of  trade  had  gone.  Now, 
he  thought  he  could  tell  whether  it  was  to  be  one  of  Lorry's 
evenings  or  not.  He  understood  why  she  had  so  eagerly  taken 
up  Henrietta  Hastings's  suggestion,  made  probably  with  no 
idea  that  anything  would  come  of  it — Henrietta  was  full  of 
schemes,  evolved  not  for  action,  but  simply  to  pass  the  time 
and  to  cause  talk  in  the  town.  Estelle's  shop  became  to  him 
vastly  different  from  a  mere  place  for  buying  and  selling;  and 
presently  he  wTas  looking  on  the  other  side,  the  human  side, 
of  all  the  shops  and  businesses  and  material  activities,  great  and 
small.  Just  as  a  knowledge  of  botany  makes  every  step  taken  in 
the  country  an  advance  through  thronging  miracles,  so  his  new 
knowledge  was  transforming  surroundings  he  had  thought  com 
monplace  into  a  garden  of  wonders.  "  How  poor  and  tedious 
the  life  I  marked  out  for  myself  at  college  was,"  he  was  presently 
thinking,  "  in  comparison  with  this  life  of  realities!  "  He  saw 
that  Lorry,  instead  of  being  without  ambitions,  was  inspired 
by  the  highest  ambitions.  "  A  good  son,  a  good  lover,  a  good 
workman,"  thought  Arthur.  "  What  more  can  a  man  be,  or 
aspire  to  be?  "  Before  his  mind's  eyes  there  was,  clear  as  light, 
vivid  as  life,  the  master  workman — his  father.  And  for  the 
first  time  Arthur  welcomed  that  vision,  felt  that  he  could  look 
into  Hiram's  grave,  kind  eyes  without  flinching  and  without 
the  slightest  inward  reservation  of  blame  or  reproach. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  bearing  of  the  case  of  Lorry 

231 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

and  Estelle  upon  the  case  of  Arthur  and  Madelene  occurred 
to  him.  Once  he  saw  this  he  could  think  of  nothing  else.  He 
got  Lorry's  permission  to  tell  Madelene ;  and  when  she  had  the 
whole  story  he  said,  "  You  see  its  message  to  us?  " 

And  Madelene's  softly  shining  eyes  showed  that  she  did, 
even  before  her  lips  had  the  chance  to  say,  "  We  certainly  have 
no  respectable  excuse  for  waiting." 

"  As  soon  as  mother  gets  the  office  done,"  suggested  Arthur. 

On  the  morning  after  the  wedding,  at  a  quarter  before  seven, 
Arthur  and  Madelene  came  down  the  drive  together  to  the 
new  little  house  by  the  gate.  And  very  handsome  and  well 
matched  they  seemed  as  they  stood  before  her  office  and  gazed 
at  the  sign :  "  Madelene  Ranger,  M.D."  She  unlocked  and 
opened  the  door;  he  followed  her  in.  When,  a  moment  later, 
ke  reappeared  and  went  swinging  down  the  street  to  his  work, 
his  expression  would  have  made  you  like  him — and  envy  him. 
And  at  the  window  watching  him  was  Madelene.  There  were 
tears  in  her  fine  eyes,  and  her  bosom  was  heaving  in  a  storm 
of  emotion.  She  was  saying,  "  It  almost  seems  wicked  to  feel  as 
happy  as  I  do." 


232 


CHAPTER   XXI 
HIRAM'S  SON 

N  Hiram  Ranger's  last  year  the  Ranger-Whitney 
Company  made  half  a  million;  the  first  year 
under  the  trustees  there  was  a  small  deficit. 
Charles  Whitney  was  most  apologetic  to  his 
fellow  trustees  who  had  given  him  full  control 
because  he  owned  just  under  half  the  stock  and 
was  the  business  man  of  the  three.  "  I've  relied  wholly  on 
Howells,"  explained  he.  "  I  knew  Ranger  had  the  highest 
opinion  of  his  ability,  but  evidently  he's  one  of  those  chaps  who 
are  good  only  as  lieutenants.  However,  there's  no  excuse  for 
me — none.  During  the  coming  year  I'll  try  to  make  up  for  my 
negligence.  I'll  give  the  business  my  personal  attention." 

But  at  the  end  of  the  second  year  the  books  showed  that, 
while  the  company  had  never  done  so  much  business,  there  was 
a  loss  of  half  a  million ;  another  such  year  and  the  surplus  would 
be  exhausted.  At  the  trustees'  meeting,  of  the  three  faces  staring 
gloomily  at  these  ruinous  figures  the  gloomiest  was  Charles 
Whitney's.  "  There  can  be  only  one  explanation,"  said  he. 
"  The  shifting  of  the  centers  of  production  is  making  it  increas 
ingly  difficult  to  manufacture  here  at  a  profit." 

"  Perhaps  the  railways  are  discriminating  against  us,"  sug 
gested  Scarborough. 

Whitney  smiled  slightly.  "  That's  your  reform  politics," 
said  he.  "  You  fellows  never  seek  the  natural  causes  for  things; 
you  at  once  accuse  the  financiers." 

Scarborough  smiled  back  at  him.     "  But  haven't  there  been 
instances  of  rings  in  control  of  railways  using  their  power  for 
plants  they  were  interested  in  and  against  competing  plants?" 
is  233 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Possibly — to  a  limited  extent,"  conceded  Whitney.  "  But 
I  hold  to  the  old-fashioned  idea.  My  dear  sir,  this  is  a  land 
of  opportunity " 

"  Still,  Whitney,"  interrupted  Dr.  Hargrave,  "  there  may 
.be  something  in  what  Senator  Scarborough  says." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  Whitney  hastened  to  answer.  "  I  only 
hope  there  is.  Then  our  problem  will  be  simple.  I'll  set  my 
lawyers  to  work  at  once.  If  that  is  the  cause  " — he  struck  the 
table  resolutely  with  his  clenched  fist — "  the  scoundrels  shall 
be  brought  to  book!  " 

His  eyes  shifted  as  he  lifted  them  to  find  Scarborough  look 
ing  at  him.  "  You  have  inside  connections  with  the  Chicago 
railway  crowd,  have  you  not,  Mr.  Whitney?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  think  I  have,"  said  Whitney,  with  easy  candor.  "  That's 
why  I  feel  confident  your  suggestion  has  no  foundation — be 
yond  your  suspicion  of  all  men  engaged  in  large  enterprises. 
It's  a  wonder  you  don't  suspect  me.  Indeed,  you  probably 
will." 

He  spoke  laughingly.  Scarborough's  answer  was  a  grave 
smile. 

"  My  personal  loss  may  save  me  from  you,"  Whitney  went 
on.  "  I  hesitate  to  speak  of  it,  but,  as  you  can  see,  it  is  large 
— almost  as  large  as  the  university's." 

"  Yes,"  said  Scarborough  absently,  though  his  gaze  was 
still  fixed  on  Whitney.  "  You  think  you  can  do  nothing?  " 

"Indeed  I  do  not!"  exclaimed  Whitney.  "I  shall  begin 
with  the  assumption  that  you  are  right.  And  if  you  are,  I'll 
have  those  scoundrels  in  court  within  a  month." 

"And  then?" 

The  young  senator's  expression  and  tone  were  calm,  but 
Whitney  seemed  to  find  covert  hostility  in  them.  "  Then — 
justice!  "  he  replied  angrily. 

Dr.  Hargrave  beamed  benevolent  confidence.  "Justice!" 
he  echoed.  "  Thank  God  for  our  courts!  " 

"  But  when  ?  "  said  Scarborough.  As  there  was  no  answer, 
he  went  on :  "  In  five — ten — fifteen — perhaps  twenty  years. 
The  lawyers  are  in  no  hurry — a  brief  case  means  a  small  fee. 

234 


HIRAM'S    SON 


The  judges — they'.ve  got  their  places  for  life,  so  there's  no 
reason  why  they  should  muss  their  silk  gowns  in  undignified 
haste.  Besides —  It  seems  to  me  I've  heard  somewhere  the 
phrase  '  railway  judges.'  ': 

Dr.  Hargrave  looked  gentle  but  strong  disapproval.  "  You 
are  too  pessimistic,  Hampden,"  said  he. 

"  The  senator  should  not  let  the  wounds  from  his  political 
fights  gangrene,"  suggested  Whitney,  with  good-humored 
raillery. 

"  Have  you  nothing  but  the  court  remedy  to  offer?  "  asked 
Scarborough,  a  slight  smile  on  his  handsome  face,  so  deceptively 
youthful. 

"  That's  quite  enough,"  answered  Whitney.  "  In  my  own 
affairs  I've  never  appealed  to  the  courts  in  vain." 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  said  Scarborough,  and  Whitney  looked 
as  if  he  had  scented  sarcasm,  though  Scarborough  was  correctly 
colorless.  "  But,  if  you  should  be  unable  to  discover  any 
grounds  for  a  case  against  the  railways?  " 

"  Then  all  we  can  do  is  to  work  harder  than  ever  along 
the  old  lines — cut  down  expenses,  readjust  wages,  stop  waste." 
Whitney  sneered  politely.  "  But  no  doubt  you  have  some  other 
plan  to  propose." 

Scarborough  continued  to  look  at  him  with  the  same  faint 
smile.  "  I've  nothing  to  suggest — to-day,"  said  he.  "  The  court 
proceedings  will  do  no  harm — you  see,  Mr.  Whitney,  I  can't 
get  my  wicked  suspicion  of  your  friends  out  of  my  mind.  But 
we  must  also  try  something  less — less  leisurely  than  courts.  I'll 
think  it  over." 

Whitney  laughed  rather  uncomfortably;  and  when  they 
adjourned  he  lingered  with  Dr.  Hargrave.  "  We  must  not 
let  ourselves  be  carried  away  by  our  young  friend's  suspicions," 
said  he  to  his  old  friend.  "  Scarborough  is  a  fine  fellow.  But 
he  lacks  your  experience  and  my  knowledge  of  practical  busi 
ness.  And  he  has  been  made  something  of  a  crank  by  combat 
ing  the  opposition  his  extreme  views  have  aroused  among  con 
servative  people." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Whitney,"  replied  the  doctor.    "  Hamp- 

235 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

den's  views  are  sound.  He  is  misrepresented  by  the  highly 
placed  rascals  he  has  exposed  and  dislodged.  But  in  these 
business  matters  we  rely  upon  you."  He  linked  his  arm  affec 
tionately  in  that  of  the  powerful  and  successful  "  captain  of 
industry  "  whom  he  had  known  from  boyhood.  "  I  know  how 
devoted  you  are  to  Tecumseh,  and  how  ably  you  manage  prac 
tical  affairs ;  and  I  have  not  for  a  moment  lost  confidence  that 
you  will  bring  us  safely  through." 

Whitney's  face  was  interesting.  There  was  a  certain  hang 
dog  look  in  it,  but  there  was  also  a  suggestion — very  covert — 
of  cynical  amusement,  as  of  a  good  player's  jeer  at  a  blunder 
by  his  opponent.  His  tone,  however,  was  melancholy,  tinged 
with  just  resentment,  as  he  said :  "  Scarborough  forgets  how  my 
own  personal  interest  is  involved.  I  don't  like  to  lose  two  hun 
dred  and  odd  thousand  a  year." 

"  Scarborough  meant  nothing,  I'm  sure,"  said  Hargrave 
soothingly.  "  He  knows  we  are  all  single  hearted  for  the  uni 
versity." 

"  I  don't  like  to  be  distrusted,"  persisted  Whitney  sadly. 
Then  brightening :  "  But  you  and  I  understand  each  other, 
doctor.  And  we  will  carry  the  business  through.  Every  man 
who  tries  to  do  anything  in  this  world  must  expect  to  be  mis 
understood." 

"  You  are  mistaken  about  Scarborough,  I  know  you  are," 
said  Hargrave  earnestly. 

Whitney  listened  to  Hargrave,  finally  professed  to  be  reas 
sured;  but,  before  he  left,  a  strong  doubt  of  Scarborough's 
judgment  had  been  implanted  by  him  in  the  mind  of  the  old 
doctor.  That  was  easy  enough;  for,  while  Hargrave  was  too 
acute  a  man  to  give  his  trust  impulsively,  he  gave  without  re 
serve  when  he  did  give — and  he  believed  in  Charles  Whitney. 
The  ability  absolutely  to  trust  where  trust  is  necessary  is  as 
essential  to  effective  character  as  is  the  ability  to  withhold 
trust  until  its  wisdom  has  been  justified;  and  exceptions  only 
confirm  a  rule. 

Scarborough,  feeling  that  he  had  been  neglecting  his  trustee 
ship,  now  devoted  himself  to  the  Ranger-Whitney  Company. 

236 


HIRAM'S    SON 


He  had  long  consultations  with  Howells,  and  studied  the  daily 
and  weekly  balance  sheets  which  Howells  sent  him.  In  the 
second  month  after  the  annual  meeting  he  cabled  Dory  to  come 
home.  The  entire  foundation  upon  which  Dory  was  building 
seemed  to  be  going;  Saint  X  was,  therefore,  the  place  for  him, 
not  Europe. 

"  And  there  you  have  all  I  have  been  able  to  find  out," 
concluded  Scarborough,  when  he  had  given  Dory  the  last  of 
the  facts  and  figures.  "What  do  you  make  of  it?" 

"  There's  something  wrong — something  rotten,"  replied 
Dory. 

"  But  where?"  inquired  Scarborough,  who  had  taken  care 
not  to  speak  or  hint  his  vague  doubts  of  Whitney.  "  Every 
thing  looks  all  right,  except  the  totals  on  the  balance  sheets." 

"  We  must  talk  this  over  with  some  one  wrho  knows  more 
about  the  business  than  either  of  us."  Then  he  added,  as  if 
the  idea  had  just  come  |p  him,  "  Why  not  call  in  Arthur — 
Arthur  Ranger?" 

Scarborough  looked  receptive,  but  not  enthusiastic. 

"  He  has  been  studying  this  business  in  the  most  practical 
way  ever  since  his  father  died,"  urged  Dory.  "  It  can't  do 
any  harm  to  consult  with  him.  WTe  don't  want  to  call  in 
outside  experts  if  we  can  help  it." 

"  If  we  did  we'd  have  to  let  Mr.  Whitney  select  them," 
said  Scarborough.  And  he  drew  Dory  out  upon  the  subject 
of  Arthur  and  got  such  complete  and  intelligent  answers  that 
he  presently  had  a  wholly  new  and  true  idea  of  the  young  man 
whose  boyish  follies  Saint  X  had  not  yet  forgotten.  "  Yes, 
let's  give  Arthur  a  chance,"  he  finally  said. 

Accordingly,  they  laid  the  case  in  its  entirety  before  Arthur, 
and  he  took  home  with  him  the  mass  of  reports  which  Scar 
borough  had  gathered.  Night  after  night  he  and  Madelene 
worked  at  the  problem ;  for  both  knew  that  its  solution  would 
be  his  opportunity,  their  opportunity. 

It  was  Madelene  who  discovered  the  truth — not  by  search 
ing  the  figures,  not  by  any  process  of  surface  reasoning,  but 
by  that  instinct  for  motive  which  woman  has  developed  through 

237 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

her  ages  of  dealing  with  and  in  motives  only.  "  They  must 
get  a  new  management,"  said  she;  "one  that  Charles  Whit 
ney  has  no  control  over." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he's  wrecking  the  business  to  get  hold  of  it.  He 
wants  the  whole  thing,  and  he  couldn't  resist  the  chance  the 
inexperience  and  confidence  of  the  other  two  gave  him." 

"  I  see  no  indication  of  it,"  objected  Arthur,  to  draw  her 
out.  "  On  the  contrary,  wherever  he  directly  controls  there's 
a  good  showing." 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Madelene,  feeling  that  she  now 
had  her  feet  on  the  firm  ground  of  reason  on  which  alone  stupid 
men  will  discuss  practical  affairs. 

Arthur  had  lived  with  Madelene  long  enough  to  learn  that 
her  mind  was  indeed  as  clear  as  her  eyes,  that  when  she  looked 
at  anything  she  saw  it  as  it  was,  and  saw  all  of  it.  Like  any 
man  who  has  the  right  material  in  him,  he  needed  only  the 
object  lesson  of  her  quick  dexterity  at  stripping  a  problem  of 
its  shell  of  nonessentials.  He  had  become  what  the  ineffective 
call  a  pessimist.  He  had  learned  the  primer  lesson  of  large 
success — that  one  must  build  upon  the  hard,  pessimistic  facts 
of  human  nature's  instability  and  fate's  fondness  for  mischief, 
not  upon  the  optimistic  clouds  of  belief  that  everybody  is  good 
and  faithful  and  friendly  disposed  and  everything  will  "  come 
out  all  right  somehow."  The  instant  Madelene  suggested 
Whitney  as  the  cause,  Arthur's  judgment  echoed  approval ;  but, 
to  get  her  whole  mind  as  one  gives  it  only  in  combating  oppo 
sition,  he  continued  to  object.  "  But  suppose,"  said  he,  "  Whit 
ney  insists  on  selecting  the  new  management?  As  he's  the 
only  one  competent,  how  can  they  refuse  ?  " 

"  We  must  find  a  way  round  that,"  replied  Madelene. 
"  It's  perfectly  plain,  isn't  it,  that  there's  only  one  course — 
an  absolutely  new  management.  And  how  can  Mr.  Whitney 
object?  If  he's  not  guilty  he  won't  object,  because  he'll  be 
eager  to  try  the  obvious  remedy.  If  he's  guilty  he  won't 
object — he'll  be  afraid  of  being  suspected." 

"  Dory  suggested — "  began  Arthur,  and  stopped. 

238 


HIRAM'S    SON 


"  That  you  be  put  in  as  manager?" 

"  How  did  you  know  that?  " 

"  It's  the  sensible  thing.  It's  the  only  thing,"  answered 
his  wife.  "  And  Dory  has  the  genius  of  good  sense.  You 
ought  to  go  to  Scarborough  and  ask  for  the  place.  Take 
Dory  with  you." 

"  That's  good  advice,"  said  Arthur,  heartily. 

Madelene  laughed.  "  When  a  man  praises  a  woman's  ad 
vice,  it  means  she  has  told  him  to  do  what  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  do  anyhow." 


Next  day  Scarborough  called  a  meeting  of  the  trustees. 
Down  from  Chicago  came  Whitney — at  the  greatest  personal 
inconvenience,  so  he  showed  his  colleagues,  but  eager  to  do 
anything  for  Tecumseh.  Scarborough  gave  a  clear  and  ap 
palling  account  of  how  the  Ranger- WTiitney  Company's  pros 
perity  was  slipping  into  the  abyss  like  a  caving  sand  bank,  on 
all  sides,  apparently  under  pressure  of  forces  beyond  human 
control.  "  In  view  of  the  facts,"  said  he,  in  conclusion,  "  our 
sole  hope  is  in  putting  ourselves  to  one  side  and  giving  an 
entirely  new  management  an  entirely  free  hand." 

Whitney  had  listened  to  Scarborough's  speech  with  the 
funereal  countenance  befitting  so  melancholy  a  recital.  As 
Scarborough  finished  and  sank  back  in  his  chair,  he  said,  with 
energy  and  heartiness,  "  I  agree  with  you,  senator.  The  law 
yers  tell  me  there  are  as  yet  no  signs  of  a  case  against  the 
railways.  Besides,  the  trouble  seems  to  be,  as  I  feared,  deeper 
than  this  possible  rebating.  Jenkins — one  of  my  best  men — I 
sent  him  down  to  help  Howells  out — he's  clearly  an  utter 
failure — utter!  And  I  am  getting  old.  The  new  conditions 
of  business  life  call  for  young  men  with  open  minds." 

"No,  no!"  protested  Dr.  Hargrave.  "I  will  not  con 
sent  to  any  change  that  takes  your  hand  off  the  lever,  my  friend. 
These  are  stormy  times  in  our  industrial  world,  and  we  need 
the  wise,  experienced  pilot." 

Scarborough  had  feared  this;  but  he  and  Dory,  forced  to 

239 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

choose  between  taking  him  into  their  confidence  and  boldly 
challenging  the  man  in  whom  he  believed  implicitly,  had 
chosen  the  far  safer  course.  "  While  Mr.  Whitney  must 
appreciate  your  eulogy,  doctor,"  said  he,  suave  yet  with  a 
certain  iciness,  "  I  think  he  will  insist  upon  the  trial  of  the 
only  plan  that  offers.  In  our  plight  we  must  not  shrink  from 
desperate  remedies — even  a  remedy  as  desperate  as  eliminating 
the  one  man  who  understands  the  business  from  end  to  end." 
This  last  with  slight  emphasis  and  a  steady  look  at  Whitney. 

Whitney  reddened.  "  We  need  not  waste  words,"  said  he, 
in  his  bluff,  sharp  voice.  "  The  senator  and  I  are  in  accord, 
and  we  are  the  majority." 

"  At  least,  Mr.  Whitney,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you  must  sug 
gest  the  new  man.  You  know  the  business  world.  We 
don't." 

A  long  pause;  then  from  Whitney:  "Why  not  try  young 
Ranger?" 

Scarborough  looked  at  him  in  frank  amazement.  By  what 
process  of  infernal  telepathy  had  he  found  out?  Or  was  there 
some  deep  reason  why  Arthur  would  be  the  best  possible  man 
for  his  purpose,  if  his  purpose  was  indeed  malign?  Was  Ar 
thur  his  tool?  Or  was  Arthur  subtly  making  tools  of  both 
Whitney  and  himself? 

Dr.  Hargrave  was  dumfounded.  When  he  recovered  him 
self  sufficiently  to  speak,  it  was  to  say,  "  Why,  he's  a  mere  boy, 
Whitney — not  yet  thirty.  He  has  had  no  experience!" 

"  Inexperience  seems  to  be  what  we  need,"  replied  Whit 
ney,  eyes  twinkling  sneeringly  at  Scarborough.  "  We  have 
tried  experience,  and  it  is  a  disastrous  failure." 

Scarborough  was  still  reflecting. 

"  True,"  pursued  Whitney,  "  the  young  man  would  also 
have  the  motive  of  self-interest  to  keep  him  from  making  a 
success." 

"How  is  that?"  inquired  Scarborough. 

"  Under  the  will,"  Whitney  reminded  him,  "  he  can  buy 
back  the  property  at  its  market  value.  Obviously,  the  less 
the  property  is  worth,  the  better  for  him." 

240 


HIRAM'S    SON 


Scarborough  was  staggered.  Was  Arthur  crafty  as  well  as 
able?  With  the  human  conscience  ever  eager  to  prove  that 
what  is  personally  advantageous  is  also  right,  how  easy  for  a 
man  in  his  circumstances  to  convince  himself  that  any  course 
would  be  justifiable  in  upsetting  the  "  injustice "  of  Hiram 
Ranger's  will. 

"  However,"  continued  Whitney,  "  I've  no  doubt  he's  as 
honest  as  his  father — and  I  couldn't  say  more  than  that.  The 
only  question  is  whether  we  can  risk  giving  him  the  chance  to 
show  what  there  is  in  him." 

Dr.  Hargrave  was  looking  dazedly  from  one  of  his  col 
leagues  to  the  other,  as  if  he  thought  his  mind  were  playing 
him  a  trick.  "  It  is  impossible — preposterous!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  A  man  has  to  make  a  beginning,"  said  Whitney.  "  How 
can  he  show  what  there  is  in  him  unless  he  gets  a  chance?  It 
seems  to  me,  doctor,  we  owe  it  to  Hiram  to  do  this  for  the 
boy.  We  can  keep  an  eye  and  a  hand  on  him.  WThat  do 
you  think,  senator?" 

Scarborough  had  won  at  every  stage  of  his  career,  not 
merely  because  he  had  convictions  and  the  courage  of  them, 
but  chiefly  because  he  had  the  courage  to  carry  through  the 
plans  he  laid  in  trying  to  make  his  convictions  effective.  He 
had  come  there,  fixed  that  Arthur  was  the  man  for  the  place ; 
why  throw  up  his  hand  because  Whitney  was  playing  into  it? 
Nothing  had  occurred  to  change  his  opinion  of  Arthur.  "  Let 
us  try  Arthur  Ranger,"  he  now  said.  "  But  let  us  give  him 
a  free  hand." 

He  was  watching  Whitney's  face ;  he  saw  it  change  expres 
sion — a  slight  frown.  "  I  advise  against  the  free  hand,"  said 
Whitney. 

"I  protest  against  it!"  cried  Dr.  Hargrave.  "I  protest 
against  even  considering  this  inexperienced  boy  for  such  a 
responsibility." 

Scarborough  addressed  himself  to  Whitney.  "  If  we  do 
not  give  our  new  manager,  whoever  he  may  be,  a  free  hand, 
and  if  he  should  fail,  how  shall  we  know  whether  the  fault  is 
his  or — yours  ?  " 

241 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

At  the  direct  "  yours "  Scarborough  thought  Whitney 
winced ;  but  his  reply  was  bland  and  frank  enough.  He  turned 
to  Dr.  Hargrave.  "  The  senator  is  right,"  said  he.  "  I  shall 
vote  with  him." 

"  Then  it  is  settled,"  said  Scarborough.  "  Ranger  is  to 
have  absolute  charge." 

Dr.  Hargrave  was  now  showing  every  sign  of  his  great 
age;  the  anguish  of  imminent  despair  was  in  his  deep-set  eyes 
and  in  his  broken,  trembling  voice  as  he  cried :  "  Gentle 
men,  this  is  madness!  Charles,  I  implore  you,  do  not  take 
such  precipitate  action  in  so  vital  a  matter!  Let  us  talk 
it  over  —  think  it  over.  The  life  of  the  university  is  at 
stake!" 

It  was  evident  that  the  finality  in  the  tones  and  in  the 
faces  of  his  colleagues  had  daunted  him ;  but  with  a  tremendous 
effort  he  put  down  the  weakness  of  age  and  turned  fiercely 
upon  Whitney  to  shame  him  from  indorsing  Scarborough's 
suicidal  policy.  But  Whitney,  with  intent  of  brutality,  took 
out  his  watch.  "  I  have  just  time  to  catch  my  train,"  said 
he,  indifferently;  "I  can  only  use  my  best  judgment,  doctor. 
Sorry  to  have  to  disagree  with  you,  but  Senator  Scarborough 
has  convinced  me."  And  having  thus  placed  upon  Scarbor 
ough  the  entire  responsibility  for  the  event  of  the  experiment, 
he  shook  hands  with  his  colleagues  and  hurried  out  to  his  wait 
ing  carriage. 

Dr.  Hargrave  dropped  into  a  chair  and  stared  into  vacancy. 
In  all  those  long,  long  years  of  incessant  struggle  against  heart 
breaking  obstacles  he  had  never  lost  courage  or  faith.  But 
this  blow  at  the  very  life  of  the  university  and  from  its  friends! 
He  could  not  even  lift  himself  enough  to  look  to  his  God;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  God  had  gone  on  a  far  journey.  Scarbor 
ough,  watching  him,  was  profoundly  moved.  "  If  at  the  end 
of  three  months  you  wish  Ranger  to  resign,"  said  he,  "  I  shall 
see  to  it  that  he  does  resign.  Believe  me,  doctor,  I  have  not 
taken  this  course  without  considering  all  the  possibilities,  so 
far  as  I  could  foresee  them." 

The  old  president,  impressed  by  his  peculiar  tone,  looked 

242 


HIRAM'S    SON 


up  quickly.  "  There  is  something  in  this  that  I  don't  under 
stand,"  said  he,  searching  Scarborough's  face. 

Scarborough  was  tempted  to  explain.  But  the  conse 
quences,  should  he  fail  to  convince  Hargrave,  compelled  him 
to  withhold.  "  I  hope,  indeed  I  feel  sure,  you  will  be  aston 
ished  in  our  young  friend,"  said  he,  instead.  "  I  have  been 
talking  with  him  a  good  deal  lately,  and  I  am  struck  by  the 
strong  resemblance  to  his  father.  It  is  more  than  mere  physical 
likeness." 

With  a  sternness  he  could  have  shown  only  where  prin 
ciple  was  at  stake,  the  old  man  said :  "  But  I  must  not  conceal 
from  you,  senator,  that  I  have  the  gravest  doubts  and  fears 
You  have  alienated  the  university's  best  friend — rich,  powerful, 
able,  and,  until  you  exasperated  him,  devoted  to  its  interests. 
I  regard  you  as  having — unintentionally,  and  no  doubt  for  good 
motives — betrayed  the  solemn  trust  Hiram  Ranger  reposed  in 
you."  He  was  standing  at  his  full  height,  with  his  piercing 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  young  colleague's. 

All  the  color  left  Scarborough's  face.  "  Betrayed  is  a 
strong  word,"  he  said. 

"  A  strong  word,  senator,"  answered  Dr.  Hargrave,  "  and 
used  deliberately.  I  wish  you  good  day,  sir." 

Hargrave  was  one  of  those  few  men  who  are  respected 
without  any  reservation,  and  whose  respect  is,  therefore,  not 
given  up  without  a  sense  of  heavy  loss.  But  to  explain  would 
be  to  risk  rousing  in  him  an  even  deeper  anger — anger  on 
account  of  his  friend  Whitney ;  so,  without  another  word,  Scar 
borough  bowed  and  went.  "  Either  he  will  be  apologizing  to 
me  at  the  end  of  three  months,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  or  I 
shall  be  apologizing  to  Whitney  and  shall  owe  Tecumseh  a 
large  sum  of  money." 


Both  Madelene  and  Arthur  had  that  instinct  for  comfort 
and  luxury  which  is  an  even  larger  factor  in  advancement  than 
either  energy  or  intelligence.  The  idea  that  clothing  means 
something  more  than  warmth,  food  something  more  than  fod- 

243 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

der,  a  house  something  more  than  shelter,  is  the  beginning  of 
progress ;  the  measure  of  a  civilized  man  or  woman  is  the  meas 
ure  of  his  or  her  passion  for  and  understanding  of  the  art  of 
living. 

Madelene,  by  that  right  instinct  which  was  perhaps  the 
finest  part  of  her  sane  and  strong  character,  knew  what  com 
fort  really  means,  knew  the  difference  between  luxury  and  the 
showy  vulgarity  of  tawdriness  or  expensiveness ;  and  she  rapidly 
corrected,  or,  rather,  restored,  Arthur's  good  taste,  which  had 
been  vitiated  by  his  associations  with  fashionable  people,  whose 
standards  are  necessarily  always  poor.  She  was  devoted  to  her 
profession  as  a  science ;  but  she  did  not  neglect  the  vital  material 
considerations.  She  had  too  much  self-respect  to  become  care 
less  about  her  complexion  or  figure,  about  dress  or  personal 
habits,  even  if  she  had  not  had  such  shrewd  insight  into  what 
makes  a  husband  remain  a  lover,  a  wife  a  mistress.  She  had 
none  of  those  self-complacent  delusions  which  lure  vain  women 
on  in  slothfulness  until  Love  vacates  his  neglected  temple.  And 
in  large  part,  no  doubt,  Arthur's  appearance — none  of  the  stains 
and  patches  of  the  usual  workingman,  and  this  though  he 
worked  hard  at  manual  labor  and  in  a  shop — was  due  to  her 
influence  of  example;  he,  living  with  such  a  woman,  would 
have  been  ashamed  not  to  keep  "  up  to  the  mark."  Also  her 
influence  over  old  Mrs.  Ranger  became  absolute;  and  swiftly 
yet  imperceptibly  the  house,  which  had  so  distressed  Adelaide, 
was  transformed,  not  into  the  exhibit  of  fashionable  ostentation 
which  had  once  been  Adelaide's  and  Arthur's  ideal,  but  into 
a  house  of  comfort  and  beauty,  with  colors  harmonizing,  the 
look  of  newness  gone  from  the  "  best  rooms,"  and  finally  the 
"  best  rooms  "  themselves  abolished.  And  Ellen  thought  her 
self  chiefly  responsible  for  the  change.  "  I'm  gradually  getting 
things  just  about  as  I  want  'em,"  said  she.  "  It  does  take  a 
long  time  to  do  anything  in  this  world !  "  Also  she  believed, 
and  a  boundless  delight  it  was  to  her,  that  she  was  the  cause 
of  Madelene's  professional  success.  Everyone  talked  of  the 
way  Madelene  was  getting  on,  and  wondered  at  her  luck. 
"  She  deserves  it,  though,"  said  they,  "  for  she  can  all  but  rais< 

244 


HIRAM'S    SON 


the  dead."  In  fact,  the  secret  was  simple  enough.  She  had 
been  taught  by  her  father  to  despise  drugs  and  to  compel  diet 
ing  and  exercise.  She  had  the  tact  which  he  lacked;  she  made 
the  allowances  for  human  nature's  ignorance  and  superstitior- 
which  he  refused  to  make;  she  lessened  the  hardship  of  tak 
ing  her  common-sense  prescriptions  by  veiling  them  in  medical 
hocus-pocus — a  compromise  of  the  disagreeable  truth  which  her 
father  had  always  inveighed  against  as  both  immoral  and 
unwholesome. 

Within  six  months  after  her  marriage  she  was  earning  as 
much  as  her  husband ;  and  her  fame  was  spreading  so  rapidly 
that  not  only  women  but  also  men,  and  men  with  a  contempt 
for  the  "  inferior  mentality  of  the  female,"  were  coming  to  her 
from  all  sides.  "  You'll  soon  have  a  huge  income,"  said  Ar 
thur.  "  Why,  you'll  be  rich,  you  are  so  grasping." 

"  Indeed  I  am,"  replied  she.  "  The  way  to  teach  people 
to  strive  for  high  wages  and  to  learn  thrift  is  to  make  them 
pay  full  value  for  what  they  get.  I  don't  propose  to  encour 
age  dishonesty  or  idleness.  Besides,  we'll  need  the  money." 

Arthur  had  none  of  that  mean  envy  which  can  endure  the 
prosperity  of  strangers  only;  he  would  not  even  have  been  able 
to  be  jealous  of  his  wife's  getting  on  better  than  did  he.  But, 
if  he  had  been  so  disposed,  he  would  have  found  it  hard  to 
indulge  such  feelings  because  of  Madelene.  She  had  put  their 
married  life  on  the  right  basis.  She  made  him  feel,  with 
a  certainty  which  no  morbid  imagining  could  have  shaken,  that 
she  loved  and  respected  him  for  qualities  which  could  not  be 
measured  by  any  of  the  world's  standards  of  success.  He  knew 
that  in  her  eyes  he  was  already  an  arrived  success,  that  she 
was  absolutely  indifferent  whether  others  ever  recognized  it  or 
not.  Only  those  who  realize  how  powerful  is  the  influence 
of  intimate  association  will  appreciate  what  an  effect  living 
with  Madelene  had  upon  Arthur's  character — in  withering 
the  ugly  in  it,  in  developing  its  quality,  and  in  directing  its 
strength. 

When  Scarborough  gave  Arthur  his  "  chance,"  Madelene 
took  it  as  the  matter  of  course.  "  I'm  sorry  it  has  come  so 

245 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

soon,"  said  she,  "  and  in  just  this  way.  But  it  couldn't  have 
been  delayed  long.  With  so  much  to  be  done  and  so  few  able 
or  willing  to  do  it,  the  world  can't  wait  long  enough  for  a  man 
really  to  ripen.  It's  lucky  that  you  inherit  from  your  father  so 
many  important  things  that  most  men  have  to  spend  their  lives 
in  learning." 

11  Do  you  think  so?"  said  he,  brightening;  for,  with  the 
"  chance  "  secure,  he  was  now  much  depressed  by  the  difficul 
ties  which  he  had  been  resurveying  from,  the  inside  point  of 
view. 

"  You  understand  how  to  manage  men,"  she  replied,  "  and 
you  understand  business." 

"  But,  unfortunately,  this  isn't  business." 

He  was  right.  The  problem  of  business  is,  in  its  two  main 
factors,  perfectly  simple — to  make  a  wanted  article,  and  to  put 
it  where  those  who  want  it  can  buy.  But  this  was  not  Arthur 
Ranger's  problem,  nor  is  it  the  problem  of  most  business  men 
in  our  time.  Between  maker  and  customer,  nowadays,  lie  the 
brigands  who  control  the  railways — that  is,  the  highways ;  and 
they  with  equal  facility  use  or  defy  the  law,  according  to  their 
needs.  When  Arthur  went  a-buying  grain  or  stave  timber,  he 
and  those  with  whom  he  was  trading  had  to  placate  the  brig 
ands  before  they  could  trade;  when  he  went  a-selling  flour, 
he  had  to  fight  his  way  to  the  markets  through  the  brigands. 
It  was  the  battle  which  causes  more  than  ninety  out  of  every 
hundred  in  independent  business  to  fail — and  of  the  remaining 
ten,  how  many  succeed  only  because  they  either  escaped  the 
notice  of  the  brigands  or  compromised  with  them? 

"  I  wish  you  luck,"  said  Jenkins,  when,  at  the  end  of  two 
weeks  of  his  tutelage,  Arthur  told  him  he  would  try  it  alone. 

Arthur  laughed.  "  No,  you  don't,  Jenkins,"  replied  he, 
with  good-humored  bluntness.  "  But  I'm  going  to  have  it, 
all  the  same." 

Discriminating  prices  and  freight  rates  against  his  grain, 
discriminating  freight  rates  against  his  flour;  the  courts  either 
powerless  to  aid  him  or  under  the  rule  of  bandits ;  and,  on  the 
top  of  all,  a  strike  within  two  weeks  after  Jenkins  left — such 

246 


HIRAM'S    SON 


was  the  situation.  Arthur  thought  it  hopeless;  but  he  did  not 
lose  courage  nor  his  front  of  serenity,  even  when  alone  with 
Madelene.  Each  was  careful  not  to  tempt  the  malice  of  fate 
by  concealments;  each  was  careful  also  not  to  annoy  the  other 
with  unnecessary7  disagreeable  recitals.  If  he  could  have  seen 
where  good  advice  could  possibly  help  him,  he  would  have  laid 
all  his  troubles  before  her;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  to  ask 
her  advice  would  be  as  if  she  were  to  ask  him  to  tell  her  how 
to  put  life  into  a  corpse.  He  imagined  that  she  was  deceived 
by  his  silence  about  the  details  of  his  affairs  because  she  gave 
no  sign,  did  not  even  ask  questions  beyond  generalities.  She, 
however,  was  always  watching  his  handsome  face  with  its  fas 
cinating  evidences  of  power  inwardly  developing;  and,  as  it 
was  her  habit  to  get  valuable  information  as  to  what  was  going 
on  inside  her  fellow-beings  from  a  close  study  of  surface  appear 
ances,  the  growing  gauntness  of  his  features,  the  coming  out 
of  the  lines  of  sternness,  did  not  escape  her,  made  her  heart 
throb  with  pride  even  as  it  ached  with  sympathy  and  anxiety. 
At  last  she  decided  for  speech. 

He  was  sitting  in  their  dressing  room,  smoking  his  last 
cigarette  as  he  watched  her  braid  her  wonderful  hair  for  the 
night.  She,  observing  him  in  the  glass,  saw  that  he  was  look 
ing  at  her  with  that  yearning  for  sympathy  which  is  always  at 
its  strongest  in  a  man  in  the  mood  that  was  his  at  sight  of  those 
waves  and  showers  of  soft  black  hair  on  the  pallid  whiteness 
of  her  shoulders.  Before  he  realized  what  she  was  about  she 
was  in  his  lap,  her  arms  round  his  neck,  his  face  pillowed 
against  her  cheek  and  her  hair.  "  What  is  it,  little  boy?  "  she 
murmured,  with  that  mingling  of  the  mistress  and  the  mother 
which  every  woman  who  ever  loved  feels  for  and,  at  certain 
times,  shows  the  man  she  loves. 

He  laughed.  "  Business — business,"  said  he.  "  But  let's 
not  talk  about  it.  The  important  thing  is  that  I  have  you. 
The  rest  is — smoke!"  And  he  blew  out  a  great  cloud  of  it 
and  threw  the  cigarette  through  the  open  window. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said;  "  I've  been  waiting  for  you  to  speak, 
and  I  can't  wait  any  longer." 

247 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  I  couldn't — just  now.  It  doesn't  at  all  fit  in  with  my 
thoughts."  And  he  kissed  her. 

She  moved  to  rise.  "  Then  I'll  go  back  to  the  dressing 
table.  Perhaps  you'll  be  able  to  tell  me  with  the  width  of  the 
room  between  us." 

He  drew  her  head  against  his  again.  "  Very  well — if  I 
must,  I  will.  But  you  know  all  about  it.  For  some  mysteri 
ous  reason,  somebody — you  say  it's  Whitney,  and  probably  it 
is — won't  let  me  buy  grain  or  anything  else  as  cheaply  as  others 
buy  it.  And  for  the  same  mysterious  reason,  somebody,  prob 
ably  Whitney  again,  won't  let  me  get  to  market  without  paying 
a  heavier  toll  than  our  competitors  pay.  And  now  for  some 
mysterious  reason  somebody,  probably  Whitney  again,  has  sent 
labor  organizers  from  Chicago  among  the  men  and  has  induced 
them  to  make  impossible  demands  and  to  walk  out  without 
warning." 

"  And  you  think  there's  nothing  to  do  but  walk  out,  too," 
sajd  Madelene. 

"  Or  wait  until  I'm  put  out." 

His  tone  made  those  words  mean  that  his  desperate  situa 
tion  had  roused  his  combativeness,  that  he  would  not  give  up. 
Her  blood  beat  faster  and  her  eyes  shone.  "  You'll  win,"  she 
said,  with  the  quiet  confidence  which  strengthens  when  it  comes 
frum  a  person  whose  judgment  one  has  tested  and  found 
good.  And  he  believed  in  her  as  absolutely  as  she  believed  in 
him. 

"  I've  been  tempted  to  resign,"  he  went  on.  "  If  I  don't 
everybody'll  say  I'm  a  failure  when  the  crash  comes.  But — 
Madelene,  there's  something  in  me  that  simply  won't  let  me 
quit." 

"  There  is,"  replied  she ;  "  it's  your  father." 

"  Anyhow,  you  are  the  only  public  opinion  for  me." 

"  You'll  win,"  repeated  Madelene.  "  I've  been  thinking 
over  that  whole  business.  If  I  were  you,  Arthur  " — she  was 
sitting  up  so  that  she  could  look  at  him  and  make  her  words 
more  impressive — "  I'd  dismiss  strike  and  freight  rates  and  the 
m\\\  and  I'd  put  my  whole  mind  on  Whitney.  There's  a  weak 

248 


HIRAM'S    SON 


spot  somewhere  in  his  armor.  There  always  is  in  a  scoun 
drel's." 

Arthur  reflected.  Presently  he  drew  her  head  down  against 
his;  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  feel  his  brain  at  work, 
and  soon  she  knew  from  the  change  in  the  clasp  of  his  arms 
about  her  that  that  keen,  quick  mind  of  his  was  serving  him 
well.  "  What  a  joy  it  is  to  a  woman,"  she  thought,  "  to  know 
that  she  can  trust  the  man  she  loves — trust  him  absolutely,  al 
ways,  and  in  every  way."  And  she  fell  asleep  after  awhile, 
lulled  by  the  rhythmic  beat  of  his  pulse,  so  steady,  so  strong, 
giving  her  such  a  restful  sense  of  security.  She  did  not  awaken 
until  he  was  gently  laying  her  in  the  bed. 

"You  have  found  it?"  said  she,  reading  the  news  in  the 
altered  expression  of  his  face. 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  he. 

She  saw  that  he  did  not  wish  to  discuss.  So  she  said,  "  I 
knew  you  would,"  and  went  contentedly  back  into  sleep  again. 

Next  day  he  carefully  read  the  company's  articles  of  incor 
poration  to  make  sure  that  they  contained  no  obstacle  to  his 
plan.  Then  he  went  to  Scarborough,  and  together  they  went 
to  Judge  Torrey.  Three  days  later  there  was  a  special  meet 
ing  of  the  board  of  directors;  the  president,  Charles  Whitney, 
was  unable  to  attend,  but  his  Monday  morning  mail  contained 
this  extract  from  the  minutes: 

"  Mr.  Ranger  offered  a  resolution  that  an  assessment  of  two  thous 
and  dollars  be  at  once  laid  upon  each  share  of  the  capital  stock,  the 
proceeds  to  be  expended  by  the  superintendent  in  betterments.  Sec 
onded  by  Mr.  Scarborough.  Unanimously  passed. " 

Whitney  reread  this  very  carefully.  He  laid  the  letter 
down  and  stared  at  it.  Two  thousand  dollars  a  share  meant 
that  he,  owner  of  four  hundred  and  eighty-seven  shares,  would 
have  to  pay  in  cash  nine  hundred  and  seventy-four  thousand 
dollars.  He  ordered  his  private  car  attached  to  the  noon 
express,  and  at  five  o'clock  he  was  in  Scarborough's  library. 
17  249 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  assessment  ?  "  he  demanded,  as 
Scarborough  entered. 

"  Mr.  Ranger  explained  the  situation  to  us,"  replied  Scar 
borough.  "  He  showed  us  we  had  to  choose  between  ruin  and 
a  complete  reorganization  with  big  improvements  and  exten 
sions." 

"Lunacy,  sheer  lunacy!"  cried  Whitney.  "A  meeting  of 
the  board  must  be  called  and  the  resolution  rescinded." 

Scarborough  simply  looked  at  him,  a  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  an  outrage !  You  ask  me  to  pay 
an  assessment  of  nearly  a  million  dollars  on  stock  that  is  worth 
less." 

"  And,"  replied  Scarborough,  "  at  the  end  of  the  year  we 
expect  to  levy  another  assessment  of  a  thousand  a  share." 

Whitney  had  been  tramping  stormily  up  and  down  the 
room.  As  Scarborough  uttered  those  last  words  he  halted.  He 
eyed  his  tranquil  fellow-trustee,  then  seated  himself,  and  said, 
with  not  a  trace  of  his  recent  fury :  "  You  must  know,  Scar 
borough,  the  mills  have  no  future.  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  say 
so  before  Dr.  Hargrave.  But  I  supposed  you  were  reading 
the  signs  right.  The  plain  truth  is,  this  is  no  longer  a  good 
location  for  the  flour  industry." 

Scarborough  waited  before  replying;  when  he  did  speak  his 
tones  were  deliberate  and  suggestive  of  strong  emotion  well 
under  control.  "  True,"  said  he,  "  not  just  at  present.  But 
Judge  Beverwick,  your  friend  and  silent  partner  who  sits  on 
the  federal  bench  in  this  district,  is  at  the  point  of  death.  I 
shall  see  to  it  that  his  successor  is  a  man  with  a  less  intense 
prejudice  against  justice.  Thus  we  may  be  able  to  convince 
some  of  your  friends  in  control  of  the  railways  that  Saint  X 
is  as  good  a  place  for  mills  as  any  in  the  country." 

Whitney  grunted.  His  face  was  inscrutable.  He  paced 
the  length  of  the  room  twice;  he  stood  at  the  window  gazing 
out  at  the  arbors,  at  the  bees  buzzing  contentedly,  at  the  flies 
darting  across  the  sifting  sunbeams.  "  Beautiful  place,  this," 
said  he  at  last ;  "  very  homelike.  No  wonder  you're  a  happy 
man."  A  pause.  "As  to  the  other  matter,  I'll  see.  No 

250 


HIRAM'S    SON 


doubt   I    can  stop   this   through   the   courts,    if  you   push   me 
to  it." 

"  Not  without  giving  us  a  chance  to  explain,"  replied  Scar 
borough  ;  "  and  the  higher  courts  may  agree  with  us  that  we 
ought  to  defend  the  university's  rights  against  your  railway 
friends  and  your  '  labor '  men  whom  you  sent  down  here  to< 
cause  the  strike." 

"  Rubbish!  "  said  Whitney;  and  he  laughed.  "  Rubbish!  " 
he  repeated.  "  It's  not  a  matter  either  for  argument  or  for 
anger."  He  took  his  hat,  made  a  slight  ironic  bow,  and  was 
gone. 

He  spent  the  next  morning  with  Arthur,  discussing  the 
main  phases  of  the  business,  with  little  said  by  either  about 
the  vast  new  project.  They  lunched  together  in  the  car,  which 
was  on  a  siding  before  the  offices,  ready  to  join  the  early  after 
noon  express.  Arthur  was  on  his  guard  against  Whitney,  but 
he  could  not  resist  the  charm  of  the  financier's  manner  and 
conversation.  Like  all  men  of  force,  Whitney  had  great  mag 
netism,  and  his  conversation  was  frank  to  apparent  indiscretion, 
a  most  plausible  presentation  of  the  cynical  philosophy  of  prac 
tical  life  as  it  is  lived  by  men  of  bold  and  generous  nature. 

"  That  assessment  scheme  was  yours,  wasn't  it?"  he  said, 
when  he  and  Arthur  had  got  on  terms  of  intimacy. 

"  The  first  suggestion  came  from  me,"  admitted  Arthur. 

"  A  great  stroke,"  said  Whitney.  "  You  will  arrive,  young 
man.  I  thought  it  was  your  doing,  because  it  reminded  me 
of  your  father.  I  never  knew  a  more  direct  man  than  he,  yet 
he  was  without  an  equal  at  flanking  movements.  What  a  pity; 
his  mind  went  before  he  died !  My  first  impulse  was  to  admire 
his  will.  But,  now  that  I've  come  to  know  you,  I  see  that  if 
he  had  lived  to  get  acquainted  with  you  he'd  have  made  a  very 
different  disposition  of  the  family  property.  As  it  is,  it's  bound 
to  go  to  pieces.  No  board  ever  managed  anything  successfully. 
It's  always  a  man — one  man.  In  this  case  it  ought  to  be  you. 
But  the  time  will  come — soon,  probably — when  your  vie\v  will 
conflict  with  that  of  the  majority  of  the  board.  Then  out 
you'll  go ;  and  your  years  of  intelligent  labor  will  be  destroyed." 

251 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

It  was  plain  in  Arthur's  face  that  this  common-sense  state 
ment  of  the  case  produced  instant  and  strong  effect.  He 
merely  said :  "  Well,  one  must  take  that  risk." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  replied  Whitney;  he  was  talking  in  the 
most  careless,  impersonal  way.  "  A  man  of  your  sort,  with  the 
strength  and  the  ability  you  inherit,  and  with  the  power  that 
they  give  you  to  play  an  important  part  in  the  world,  doesn't 
let  things  drift  to  ruin.  I  intend,  ultimately,  to  give  my  share 
of  the  Ranger- Whitney  Company  to  Tecumseh — I'm  telling 
you  this  in  confidence." 

Arthur  glanced  quickly  at  the  great  financier,  suspicion 
and  wonder  in  his  eyes. 

"  But  I  want  it  to  be  a  value  when  I  give  it,"  continued 
Whitney ;  "  not  the  worse  than  worthless  paper  it  threatens  to 
become.  Scarborough  and  Dr.  Hargrave  are  splendid  men. 
No  one  honors  them  more  highly  than  I  do.  But  they  are  not 
business  men.  And  who  will  be  their  successors?  Probably 
men  even  less  practical." 

Arthur,  keen-witted  but  young,  acute  but  youthfully  ready 
to  attribute  the  generous  motive  rather  than  the  sinister,  felt 
that  he  was  getting  a  new  light  on  Whitney's  character.  Per 
haps  Whitney  wasn't  so  unworthy,  after  all.  Perhaps,  in  try 
ing  to  wreck  the  business  and  so  get  hold  of  it,  he  had  been 
carrying  out  a  really  noble  purpose,  in  the  unscrupulous  way 
characteristic  of  the  leaders  of  the  world  of  commerce  and 
finance.  To  Whitney  he  said :  "  I  haven't  given  any  thought 
to  these  matters."  With  a  good-natured  laugh  of  raillery: 
"  You  have  kept  me  too  busy." 

Whitney  smiled — an  admission  that  yet  did  not  commit 
him.  "  When  you've  lived  a  while  longer,  Arthur,"  said  he, 
"  you'll  not  be  so  swift  and  harsh  in  your  judgments  of 
men  who  have  to  lay  the  far-sighted  plans  and  have  to  deal 
with  mankind  as  it  is,  not  as  it  ought  to  be.  However,  by  that 
time  the  Ranger- Whitney  Company  will  be  wiped  out.  It's 
a  pity.  If  only  there  were  some  way  of  getting  the  control 
definitely  in  your  hands — where  your  father  would  have  put 
it  if  he  had  lived.  It's  a  shame  to  permit  his  life  work  and 

252 


HIRAM'S    SON 


his  plans  for  the  university  to  be  demolished.  In  your  place 
I'd  not  permit  it." 

Arthur  slowly  flushed.  Without  looking  at  Whitney,  he 
said :  "  I  don't  see  how  I  could  prevent  it." 

Whitney  studied  his  flushed  face,  his  lowered  eyes,  reflected 
carefully  on  the  longing  note  in  the  voice  in  which  he  had 
made  that  statement,  a  note  that  changed  it  to  a  question. 
"  Control  could  be  got  only  by  ownership,"  explained  he.  "  If 
I  were  sure  you  were  working  with  a  definite,  practical  pur 
pose  really  to  secure  the  future  of  the  company,  I'd  go  heartily 
into  your  assessment  plan.  In  fact,  I'd — "  Whitney  was 
feeling  his  way.  The  change  in  Arthur's  expression,  the  sud 
den  tightening  of  the  lips,  warned  him  that  he  was  about  to  go 
too  far,  that  he  had  sowed  as  much  seed  as  it  was  wise  to  sow 
at  that  time.  He  dropped  the  subject  abruptly,  saying:  "  But 
I've  got  to  go  up  to  the  bank  before  train  time.  I'm  glad  wre've 
had  this  little  talk.  Something  of  value  may  grow  out  of  it. 
Think  it  over,  and  if  any  new  ideas  come  to  you  run  up  to 
Chicago  and  see  me." 

Arthur  did  indeed  think  it  over,  every  moment  of  that 
afternoon ;  and  before  going  home  he  took  a  long  walk  alone. 
He  saw  that  Charles  Whitney  had  proposed  a  secret  partner 
ship,  in  which  he  was  to  play  Whitney's  game  and,  in  exchange, 
was  to  get  control  of  the  Ranger- Whitney  Company.  And 
what  Whitney  had  said  about  the  folly  of  board  managements, 
about  the  insecurity  of  his  own  position,  was  undeniably  true ; 
and  the  sacrifice  of  the  "  smaller  morality  "  for  the  "  larger 
good  "  would  be  merely  doing  what  the  biographies  of  the 
world's  men  of  achievement  revealed  them  as  doing  again  and 
again.  Further,  once  in  control,  once  free  to  put  into  action 
the  plans  for  a  truly  vast  concern,  of  which  he  had  so  often 
dreamed,  he  could  give  Tecumseh  a  far  larger  income  than  it 
had  ever  hoped  to  have  through  his  father's  gift,  and  also  could 
himself  be  rich  and  powerful.  To  the  men  who  have  operated 
with  success  and  worldly  acclaim  under  the  code  of  the  "  larger 
good,"  the  men  who  have  aggrandized  themselves  at  the  ex 
pense  of  personal  honor  and  the  rights  of  others  and  the 

253 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

progress  of  the  race,  the  first,  the  crucial  temptation  to  sacrifice 
"  smaller  morality  "  and  "  short-sighted  scruples  "  has  always 
come  in  some  such  form  as  it  here  presented  itself  to  Arthur 
Ranger.  The  Napoleons  begin  as  defenders  of  rational  free 
dom  against  the  insane  license  of  the  mob;  the  Rockefellers 
begin  as  cheapeners  of  a  necessity  of  life  to  the  straitened  mil 
lions  of  their  fellow-beings. 

If  Arthur  had  been  weak,  he  would  have  put  aside  the 
temptation  through  fear  of  the  consequences  of  failure.  If  he 
had  been  ignorant,  he  would  have  put  it  aside  through  super 
stition.  Being  neither  weak  nor  ignorant,  and  having  a  human 
passion  for  wealth  and  power  and  a  willingness  to  get  them 
if  he  could  do  it  without  sacrifice  of  self-respect,  he  sat  calmly 
down  with  the  temptation  and  listened  to  it  and  debated  with 
it.  He  was  silent  all  through  dinner;  and  after  dinner,  when 
he  and  Madelene  were  in  their  sitting  room  upstairs,  she  read 
ing,  he  sat  with  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  continued  to  think. 

All  at  once  he  gave  a  curious  laugh,  went  to  the  writing 
table  and  wrote  a  few  moments.  Then  he  brought  the  letter 
to  her.  "  Read  that,"  said  he,  standing  behind  her,  his  hands 
on  her  shoulders  and  an  expression  in  his  face  that  made  his 
resemblance  to  Hiram  startling. 

She  read: 

"My  DEAR  MR.  WHITNEY:  I've  been  'thinking  it  over'  as 
you  suggested.  I've  decided  to  plug  along  in  the  old  way,  between 
the  old  landmarks.  Let  me  add  that,  if  you  should  offer  to  give  your 
stock  to  Tecumseh  now,  I'd  have  to  do  my  utmost  to  persuade  the 
trustees  not  to  take  it  until  the  company  was  once  more  secure.  You 
see,  I  feel  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  you  have  a  large  pecuniary 
interest  in  the  success  of  our  plans." 

When  Madelene  had  read  she  turned  in  the  chair  until 
she  was  looking  up  at  him.  "  Well?  "  she  inquired.  "  What 
does  it  mean  ?  " 

He  told  her.  "  And,"  he  concluded,  "  I  wish  I  could  be 
a  great  man,  but  I  can't.  There's  something  small  in  me  that 

254 


HIRAM'S    SON 


won't  permit  it.  No  doubt  Franklin  was  right  when  he  said 
life  was  a  tunnel  and  one  had  to  stoop,  and  even  occasionally 
to  crawl,  in  order  to  get  through  it  successfully.  Now — if  I 
hadn't  married  you " 

"  Always  blaming  me,"  she  said,  tenderly.  "  But  even  if 
you  hadn't  married  me,  I  suspect  that  sooner  or  later  you'd 
have  decided  for  being  a  large  man  in  a  valley  rather  than  a 
very  small  imitation  man  on  a  mountain."  Then,  after  a  mo 
ment's  thought,  and  with  sudden  radiance:  "  But  a  man  as  big 
as  you  are  wouldn't  be  let  stay  in  the  valley,  no  matter  how 
hard  he  tried." 

He  laughed.  "  I've  no  objection  to  the  mountain  top," 
said  he.  "  But  I  see  that,  if  I  get  there,  it'll  have  to  be  in 
my  own  way.  Let's  go  out  and  mail  the  letter." 

And  they  went  down  the  drive  together  to  the  post  box, 
and,  strolling  back,  sat  under  the  trees  in  the  moonlight  until 
nearly  midnight,  feeling  as  if  they  had  only  just  begun  life 
together — and  had  begun  it  right. 


When  Charles  Whitney  had  read  the  letter  he  tore  it  up, 
saying  half-aloud  and  contemptuously,  "  I  was  afraid  there 
was  too  big  a  streak  of  fool  in  him."  Then,  with  a  shrug: 
"  What's  the  use  of  wasting  time  on  that  little  game — espe 
cially  as  I'd  probably  have  left  the  university  the  whole  busi 
ness  in  my  will."  He  wrote  Scarborough,  proposing  that  they 
delay  the  assessment  until  he  had  a  chance  to  look  further  into 
the  railway  situation.  "  I  begin  to  understand  the  troubles 
down  there,  now  that  I've  taken  time  to  think  them  over.  I 
feel  I  can  guarantee  that  no  assessment  will  be  necessary." 

And  when  the  railways  had  mysteriously  and  abruptly 
ceased  to  misbehave,  and  the  strike  had  suddenly  fizzled  out, 
he  offered  his  stock  to  the  university  as  a  gift.  "  I  shall  see 
to  it,"  he  WTOte,  "  that  the  company  is  not  molested  again,  but 
is  helped  in  every  way."  Arthur  was  for  holding  off,  but 
Scarborough  said,  "  No.  He  will  keep  his  word."  And  Scar 
borough  was  right  in  regarding  the  matter  as  settled  and  ac- 

255 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

ceptance  of  the  splendid  gift  as  safe.  Whitney  had  his  own 
code  of  honesty,  of  honor.  It  was  not  square  dealing,  but  do 
ing  exactly  what  he  specifically  engaged  to  do.  He  would 
have  stolen  anything  he  could — anything  he  regarded  as  worth 
his  while.  On  the  other  hand,  he  would  have  sacrificed  nearly 
all,  if  not  all,  his  fortune,  to  live  up  to  the  letter  of  his  given 
word.  This,  though  no  court  would  have  enforced  the  agree 
ment  he  had  made,  though  there  was  no  written  record  of  it, 
no  witness  other  than  himself,  the  other  party,  and  the  Almighty 
— for  Charles  Whitney  believed  in  an  Almighty  God  and  an 
old-fashioned  hell  and  a  Day  of  Judgment.  He  conducted  his 
religious  bookkeeping  precisely  as  he  conducted  his  business 
bookkeeping,  and  was  confident  that  he  could  escape  hell  as  he 
had  escaped  the  penitentiary. 


256 


CHAPTER    XXII 
VILLA  D'ORSAY 

DELAIDE  did  not  reach  home  until  the  troubles 
with  and  through  Charles  Whitney  were  settled, 
and  Arthur  and  Dory  were  deep  in  carrying  out 
the  plans  to  make  the  mills  and  factories  part 
of  the  university  and  not  merely  its  property. 
When  Scarborough's  urgent  cable  came,  Dory 
found  that  all  the  steamers  were  full.  Adelaide  could  go  with 
him  only  by  taking  a  berth  in  a  room  with  three  women  in 
the  bottom  of  the  ship.  "  Impossible  accommodations,"  thought 
he,  "  for  so  luxurious  a  person  and  so  poor  a  sailor";  and  he 
did  not  tell  her  that  this  berth  could  be  had.  "  You'll  have  to 
wait  a  week  or  so,"  said  he.  "  As  you  can't  well  stay  on  here 
alone,  why  not  accept  Mrs.  Whitney's  invitation  to  join  her?  " 
Adelaide  disliked  Mrs.  Whitney,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no 
alternative.  Mrs.  Whitney  was  at  Paris,  on  the  way  to  America 
after  the  wedding  and  a  severe  cure  at  Aix  and  an  aftercure  in 
Switzerland.  She  had  come  for  the  finishing  touches  of  re 
juvenation — to  get  her  hair  redone  and  to  go  through  her 
biennial  agony  of  having  Auguste,  beauty  specialist  to  the  roy 
alty,  nobility  and  fashion,  and  demimonde,  of  three  continents, 
burn  off  her  outer  skin  that  nature  might  replace  it  with  one 
new  and  fresh  and  unwrinkled.  She  was  heavily  veiled  as  she 
and  Adelaide  traveled  down  to  Cherbourg  to  the  steamer.  As 
soon  as  she  got  aboard  she  retired  to  her  room  and  remained 
hidden  there  during  the  voyage,  seen  only  by  her  maid,  her  face 
covered  day  and  night  with  Auguste's  marvelous  skin-coaxing 
mask.  Adelaide  did  not  see  her  again  until  the  morning  of  the 
last  day,  when  she  appeared  on  deck  dressed  beautifully  and 

257 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

youthfully  for  the  shore,  her  skin  as  fair  and  smooth  as  a  girl's, 
and  looking  like  an  elder  sister  of  Adelaide's — at  a  distance. 

She  paused  in  New  York;  Adelaide  hastened  to  Saint  X, 
though  she  was  looking  forward  uneasily  to  her  arrival  because 
she  feared  she  would  have  to  live  at  the  old  Hargrave  house 
in  University  Avenue.  Miss  Skeffington  ruled  there,  and  she 
knew  Miss  Skeffington — one  of  those  old-fashioned  old  maids : 
whose  rigid  ideas  of  morality  extend  to  the  ordering  of  per 
sonal  habits  in  minutest  detail.  Under  her  military  sway  every 
one  had  to  rise  for  breakfast  at  seven  sharp,  had  to  dine  exactly 
at  noon,  sup  when  the  clock  struck  the  half  hour  after  five.  In 
gress  and  egress  for  members  of  the  family  was  by  the  side  door 
only,  the  front  door  being  reserved  for  company.  For  com 
pany  also  was  the  parlor,  and  for  company  the  front  stairs  with 
their  brilliant  carpet,  new,  though  laid  for  the  first  time  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  century  before;  for  company  also  was  the  best 
room  in  the  house,  which  ought  to  have  been  attractive,  but 
was  a  little  damp  from  being  shut  up  so  much,  and  was  the 
cause  of  many  a  cold  to  guests.  "  I  simply  can't  stand  it  to  live 
by  the  striking  of  clocks!"  thought  Adelaide.  "I  must  do 
something!  But  what?" 

Her  uneasiness  proved  unnecessary,  however.  Dory  dis 
appointed  his  aunt,  of  a  new  and  interestingly  difficult  spirit 
to  subdue,  by  taking  rooms  at  the  Hendricks  Hotel  until  they 
should  find  a  place  of  their  own.  Mrs.  Ranger  asked  them 
to  live  with  her ;  but  Adelaide  shrank  from  putting  herself  in  a 
position  where  her  mother  and  Arthur  could,  and  her  sister- 
in-law  undoubtedly  would,  "  know  too  much  about  our  private 
affairs."  Mrs.  Ranger  did  not  insist.  She  would  not  admitl 
it  to  herself,  but,  while  she  worshiped  Del  and  thought  her 
even  more  beautiful  than  she  was,  and  just  about  perfection  in 
every  way,  still  Madelene  was  more  satisfactory  for  daily  com 
panionship.  Also,  Ellen  doubted  whether  two  such  positive 
natures  as  Madelene's  and  Adelaide's  would  be  harmonious  un 
der  the  same  roof.  "  What's  more,"  she  reflected,  "  there  may 
be  a  baby — babies." 

Within  a  fortnight  of  Del's  return,  and  before  she  and  Dory 

258 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


had  got  quite  used  to  each  other  again,  she  fixed  on  an  abode. 
"  Mrs.  Dorsey  was  here  this  afternoon,"  said  she,  with  en 
thusiasm  which,  to  Dory's  acute  perceptions,  seemed  slightly 
exaggerated,  in  fact,  forced,  "  and  offered  us  her  house  for  a 
year,  just  to  have  somebody  in  it  whom  she  could  trust  to  look 
after  things.  You  know  she's  taking  her  daughter  abroad  to 
finish.  It  was  too  good  a  chance  to  let  pass;  so  I  accepted  at 
once." 

Dory  turned  away  abruptly.  With  slow  deliberation  he  took 
a  cigarette  from  his  case,  lighted  it,  watched  the  smoke  drift  out 
at  the  open  window.  She  was  observing  him,  though  she  seemed 
not  to  be.  And  his  expression  made  her  just  a  little  afraid. 
Unlike  most  men  who  lead  purely  intellectual  lives,  he  had  not 
the  slightest  suggestion  of  sexlessness ;  on  the  contrary,  he  seemed 
as  strong,  as  positive  physically,  as  the  look  of  his  forehead  and 
eyes  showed  him  to  be  mentally.  And  now  that  he  had  learned 
to  dress  with  greater  care,  out  of  deference  to  her,  she  could 
find  nothing  about  him  to  help  her  in  protecting  herself  by 
criticising  him. 

"  Do  you  think,  Del,"  said  he,  "  that  we'll  be  able  to  live 
in  that  big  place  on  eighteen  hundred  a  year?  " 

It  wasn't  as  easy  for  him  thus  to  remind  her  of  their  limited 
means  as  it  theoretically  should  have  been.  Del  was  distinctly 
an  expensive-looking  luxury.  That  dress  of  hers,  pale  green, 
with  hat  and  everything  to  match  or  in  harmony,  was  a  "  sim 
ple  thing,"  but  the  best  dressmaker  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  had 
spent  a  great  deal  of  his  costly  time  in  producing  that  effect  of 
simplicity.  Throughout,  she  had  the  cleanness,  the  freshness, 
the  freedom  from  affectations  which  Dory  had  learned  could 
be  got  only  by  large  expenditure.  Nor  would  he  have  had 
her  any  different.  He  wanted  just  the  settings  she  chose  for 
her  fair,  fine  beauty.  The  only  change  he  would  have  asked 
would  have  been  in  the  expression  of  those  violet  eyes  of  hers 
when  they  looked  at  him. 

"  You  wish  I  hadn't  done  it !  "  she  exclaimed.  And  if  he 
had  not  glanced  away  so  quickly  he  would  have  seen  that  she 
was  ready  to  retreat. 

259 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  Well,  it's  not  exactly  the  start  I'd  been  thinking  of,"  re 
plied  he,  reluctantly  but  tentatively. 

It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  refuse  to  press  an  offered  ad 
vantage.  Said  Del:  "  Can't  we  close  up  most  of  the  house — 
ase  only  five  or  six  rooms  on  the  ground  floor?  And  Mrs. 
Dorsey's  gardener  and  his  helpers  will  be  there.  All  we  have 
to  do  is  to  see  that  they've  not  neglected  the  grounds."  She  was 
once  more  all  belief  and  enthusiasm.  "  It  seemed  to  me,  taking 
that  place  was  most  economical,  and  so  comfortable.  Really, 
Dory,  I  didn't  accept  without  thinking." 

Dory  was  debating  with  himself :  To  take  that  house — it  was 
one  of  those  trifles  that  are  anything  but  trifles — like  the  slight 
but  crucial  motion  at  the  crossroads  in  choosing  the  road  to  the 
left  instead  of  the  road  to  the  right.  Not  to  take  the  house — 
Del  would  feel  humiliated,  reasoned  he,  would  think  him  un 
reasonably  small,  would  chafe  under  the  restraint  their  limited 
means  put  upon  them,  whereas,  if  he  left  the  question  of 
living  on  their  income  entirely  to  her  good  sense,  she  would 
not  care  about  the  deprivations,  would  regard  them  as  self- 
imposed. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  don't  like  it,  Dory,"  she  now  said,  "  I 
suppose  Mrs.  Dorsey  will  let  me  off.  But  I'm  sure  you'd  be 
delighted,  once  we  got  settled.  The  house  is  so  attractive — at 
least,  I  think  I  can  make  it  attractive  by  packing  away  her 
showy  stuff  and  rearranging  the  furniture.  And  the  grounds — 
Dory,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  object!  " 

Dory  gave  a  shrug  and  a  smile.  "  Well,  go  ahead.  We'll 
scramble  through  somehow."  He  shook  his  head  at  her  in 
good-humored  warning.  "  Only,  please  don't  forget  what's 
coming  at  the  end  of  your  brief  year  of  grandeur." 

Adelaide  checked  the  reply  that  was  all  but  out.  She 
hastily  reflected  that  it  might  not  be  wise  to  let  him  know, 
just  then,  that  Mrs.  Dorsey  had  said  they  could  have  the 
house  for  two  years,  probably  for  three,  perhaps  for  five.  In 
stead,  she  said,  "  It  isn't  the  expense,  after  all,  that  disturbs 
you,  is  it? " 

He  smiled  confession.    "  No." 

260 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


"  I  know  it's  snobbish  of  me  to  long  for  finery  so  much  that 
I'm  even  willing  to  live  in  another  person's  and  show  off  in  it," 
she  sighed.  "  But — I'm  learning  gradually." 

He  colored.  Unconsciously  she  had  put  into  her  tone — and 
this  not  for  the  first  time,  by  any  means — a  suggestion  that 
there  wasn't  the  slightest  danger  of  his  wearying  of  waiting, 
that  she  could  safely  take  her  time  in  getting  round  to  sensible 
ideas  and  to  falling  in  love  with  him.  His  eyes  had  the  look 
of  the  veiled  amusement  that  deliberately  shows  through,  as 
he  said,  "  That's  good.  I'll  try  to  be  patient." 

It  was  her  turn  to  color.  But,  elbowing  instinctive  resent 
ment,  came  uneasiness.  His  love  seemed  to  her  of  the  sort  that 
flowers  in  the  romances — the  love  that  endures  all,  asks  nothing, 
lives  forever  upon  its  own  unfed  fire.  As  is  so  often  the  case 
with  women  whose  charms  move  men  to  extravagance  of  speech 
and  emotion,  it  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  her,  to  her  vanity, 
to  feel  that  she  had  inspired  this  wonderful  immortal  flame; 
obviously,  to  feed  such  a  flame  by  giving  love  for  love  would 
reduce  it  to  the  commonplace.  All  women  start  with  these 
exaggerated  notions  of  the  value  of  being  loved ;  few  of  them 
ever  realize  and  rouse  themselves,  or  are  aroused,  from  their 
vanity  to  the  truth  that  the  value  is  all  the  other  way.  Ade 
laide  was  only  the  natural  woman  in  blindly  fancying  that  Dory 
was  the  one  to  be  commiserated,  in  not  seeing  that  she  herself 
was  a  greater  loser  than  he,  that  to  return  his  love  would  not 
be  a  concession  but  an  acquisition.  Most  men  are  content  to 
love,  to  compel  women  to  receive  their  love;  they  prefer  the 
passive,  the  receptive  attitude  in  the  woman,  and  are  even  bored 
by  being  actively  loved  in  return;  for  love  is  exacting,  and  the 
male  is  impatient  of  exaction.  Adelaide  did  not  understand  just 
this  broad  but  subtle  difference  between  Dory  and  "  most  men  " 
— that  he  would  feel  that  he  was  violating  her  were  he  to  sweep 
her  away  in  the  arms  of  his  impetuous  released  passion,  as  he 
knew  he  could.  He  felt  that  such  a  yielding  was,  after  all,  like 
the  inert  obedience  of  the  leaf  to  the  storm  wind — that  what  he 
could  compel,  what  \vomen  call  love,  would  be  as  utterly  with 
out  substance  as  an  image  in  a  mirror,  indeed,  would  be  a 

261 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

mere  passive  reflection  of  his  own  love — all  most  men  want, 
but  worthless  to  him. 

Could  it  be  that  Dory's  love  had  become — no,  not  less,  but 
less  ardent?  She  saw  that  he  was  deep  in  thought — about  her, 
she  assumed,  with  an  unconscious  vanity  which  would  have 
excited  the  mockery  of  many  who  have  more  vanity  than  had 
she,  and  perhaps  with  less  excuse.  In  fact,  he  was  not  think 
ing  of  her ;  having  the  ability  to  turn  his  mind  completely  where 
he  willed— the  quality  of  all  strong  men,  and  the  one  that  often 
makes  the  weak-willed  think  them  hard — he  was  revolving  the 
vast  and  inspiring  plans  Arthur  and  he  had  just  got  into  prac 
tical  form — plans  for  new  factories  and  mills  such  as  a  univer 
sity,  professing  to  be  in  the  forefront  of  progress  need  not  be 
ashamed  to  own  or  to  offer  to  its  students  as  workshops.  All 
that  science  has  bestowed  in  the  way  of  making  labor  and  its 
surroundings  clean  and  comfortable,  healthful  and  attractive, 
was  to  be  provided;  all  that  the  ignorance  and  the  short 
sighted  greediness  of  employers,  bent  only  on  immediate  profits 
and  keeping  their  philanthropy  for  the  smug  penuriousness  and 
degrading  stupidity  of  charity,  deny  to  their  own  self-respect 
and  to  justice  for  their  brothers  in  their  power.  Arthur  and 
he  had  wrought  it  all  out,  had  discovered  as  a  crowning  vin 
dication  that  the  result  would  be  profitable  in  dollars,  that  their 
sane  and  shrewd  utopianism  would  produce  larger  dividends 
than  the  sordid  and  slovenly  methods  of  their  competitors.  "  It 
is  always  so.  Science  is  always  economical  as  well  as  enlight 
ened  and  humane,"  Dory  was  thinking  when  Adelaide's  voice 
broke  into  his  reverie. 

"  You  are  right,  Dory,"  said  she.  "  And  I  shall  give  up 
the  house.  I'll  go  to  see  Mrs.  Dorsey  now." 

"The  house? —  What —  Oh,  yes — well — no —  What 
made  you  change?" 

She  did  not  know  the  real  reason — that,  studying  his  face, 
the  curve  and  set  of  his  head,  the  strength  of  the  personality 
which  she  was  too  apt  to  take  for  granted  most  of  the  time  be 
cause  he  was  simple  and  free  from  pretense,  she  had  been  re 
minded  that  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with,  that  she  would 

262 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


better  bestir  herself  and  give  more  thought  and  attention  to 
what  was  going  on  in  that  superbly  shaped  head  of  his — about 
her,  about  her  and  him.  "  Oh,  I  don't  just  know,"  replied  she, 
quite  honestly.  "  It  seems  to  me  now  that  there'll  be  too  much 
fuss  and  care  and — sham.  And  I  intend  to  interest  myself  in 
our  work.  You've  hardly  spoken  of  it  since  I  got  back  " 

"  There's  been  so  little  time " 

"  You  mean,"  she  interrupted,  "  I've  been  so  busy  unpack 
ing  my  silly  dresses  and  hats  and  making  and  receiving  silly 
calls." 

"  Now  you're  in  one  of  your  penitential  moods,"  laughed 
Dory.  "  And  to-morrow  you'll  wish  you  hadn't  changed  about 
the  house.  No — that's  settled.  We'll  take  it,  and  see  what 
the  consequences  are." 

Adelaide  brightened.  His  tone  was  his  old  self,  and  she  did 
want  that  house  so  intensely!  "  I  can  be  useful  to  Dory  there; 
I  can  do  so  much  on  the  social  side  of  the  university  life.  He 
doesn't  appreciate  the  value  of  those  things  in  advancing  a  ca 
reer.  He  thinks  a  career  is  made  by  work  only.  But  I'll  show 
him !  I'll  make  his  house  the  center  of  the  university!  " 

Mrs.  Dorsey  had  "  Villa  d'Orsay  "  carved  on  the  stone  pil 
lars  of  her  great  wrought-iron  gates,  to  remind  the  populace 
that,  while  her  late  father-in-law,  "  Buck  "  Dorsey,  was  the 
plainest  of  butchers  and  meat  packers,  his  ancestry  was  of  the 
proudest.  With  the  rise  of  its  "  upper  class  "  Saint  X  had 
gone  in  diligently  for  genealogy,  had  developed  reverence  for 
"  tradition  "  and  "  blood,"  had  established  a  Society  of  Family 
Histories,  a  chapter  of  the  Colonial  Dames,  another  of  Daugh 
ters  of  the  Revolution,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  to  rival  the  sea 
board  cities  in  devotion  to  the  imported  follies  and  frauds  of 
"  family."  Dory  at  first  indulged  his  sense  of  humor  upon 
their  Dorsey  or  d'Orsay  finery.  It  seemed  to  him  they  must 
choose  between  making  a  joke  of  it  and  having  it  make  a  joke 
of  them.  But  he  desisted  when  he  saw  that  it  grated  on  Del 
for  him  to  speak  of  her  and  himself  as  "  caretakers  for  the 
rich."  And  presently  his  disposition  to  levity  died  of  itself. 

263 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

It  sobered  and  disheartened  and,  yes,  disgusted  him  as  he  was 
forced  to  admit  to  himself  the  reality  of  her  delight  in  re 
ceiving  people  in  the  great  drawing  room,  of  her  content  in 
the  vacuous,  time-wasting  habits,  of  her  sense  of  superiority 
through  having  at  her  command  a  troop  of  servants — Mrs. 
Dorsey's  servants!  He  himself  disliked  servants  about,  hated 
to  abet  a  fellow-being  in  looking  on  himself  or  herself  as  an 
inferior ;  and  he  regarded  as  one  of  the  basest,  as  well  as  subtlest 
poisons  of  snobbishness,  the  habit  of  telling  others  to  do  for  one 
the  menial,  personal  things  which  can  be  done  with  dignity  only 
by  oneself.  Once,  in  Paris — after  Besangon — Janet  spoke  of 
some  of  her  aristocratic  acquaintances  on  the  other  side  as  "  act 
ing  as  if  they  had  always  been  used  to  everything;  so  different 
from  even  the  best  people  at  home."  Dory  remembered  how 
Adelaide  promptly  took  her  up,  gave  instance  after  instance  in 
proof  that  European  aristocrats  were  in  fact  as  vulgar  in  their 
satisfaction  in  servility  as  were  the  newest  of  the  newly  aris 
tocratic  at  home,  but  simply  had  a  different  way  of  showing  it. 
"  A  more  vulgar  way,"  she  said,  Janet  unable  to  refute  her. 
"  Yes,  far  more  vulgar,  Jen,  because  deliberately  concealed ;  just 
as  vanity  that  swells  in  secret  is  far  worse  than  frank,  childish 
conceit." 

And  now —  These  vanities  of  hers,  sprung  from  the  old 
roots  which  in  Paris  she  had  been  eager  to  kill  and  he  was 
hoping  were  about  dead,  sprung  in  vigor  and  spreading  in 
weedy  exuberance !  He  often  looked  at  her  in  sad  wonder  when 
she  was  unconscious  of  it.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  would 
repeat.  "  She  is  farther  away  than  in  Paris,  where  the  temp 
tation  to  this  sort  of  nonsense  was  at  least  plausible."  And  he 
grew  silent  with  her  and  shut  himself  in  alone  during  the  even 
ing  hours  which  he  could  not  spend  at  the  university.  She 
knew  why,  knew  also  that  he  was  right,  ceased  to  bore  herself 
and  irritate  him  with  attempts  to  make  the  Villa  d'Orsay  the 
social  center  of  the  university.  But  she  continued  to  waste  her 
days  in  the  inane  pastimes  of  Saint  X's  fashionable  world,  though 
ashamed  of  herself  and  disgusted  with  her  mode  of  life.  For 
snobbishness  is  essentially  a  provincial  vice,  due  full  as  much 

264 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


to  narrowness  as  to  ignorance;  and,  thus,  it  is  most  potent  in 
the  small  "  set  "  in  the  small  town.  In  the  city  even  the  nar 
rowest  are  compelled  to  at  least  an  occasional  glimpse  of  wider 
horizons;  but  in  the  small  town  only  the  vigilant  and  resolute 
ever  get  so  much  as  a  momentary  point  of  view.  She  told  her 
self,  in  angry  attempt  at  self-excuse,  that  he  ought  to  take  her 
in  hand,  ought  to  snatch  her  away  from  that  which  she  had 
not  the  courage  to  give  up  of  herself.  Yet  she  knew  she  would 
hate  him  should  he  try  to  do  it.  She  assumed  that  was  the 
reason  he  didn't;  and  it  was  part  of  the  reason,  but  a  lesser 
part  than  his  unacknowledged,  furtive  fear  of  what  he  might 
discover  as  to  his  own  feelings  toward  her,  were  there  just 
then  a  casting  up  and  balancing  of  their  confused  accounts  with 
each  other. 

Both  were  relieved,  as  at  a  crisis  postponed,  when  it  became 
necessary  for  him  to  go  abroad  again  immediately.  "  I  don't 
see  how  you  can  leave,"  said  he,  thus  intentionally  sparing  her  a 
painful  effort  in  saying  what  at  once  came  into  the  mind  of 
each. 

"  We  could  cable  Mrs.  Dorsey,"  she  suggested  lamely.  She 
was  at  the  Louis  Quinze  desk  in  the  Louis  Quinze  sitting  room, 
and  her  old  gold  negligee  matched  in  charmingly,  and  the  whole 
setting  brought  out  the  sheen,  faintly  golden,  over  her  clear 
skin,  the  peculiarly  fresh  and  intense  shade  of  her  violet  eyes, 
the  suggestion  of  gold  in  her  thick  hair,  with  its  wan,  autumnal 
coloring,  such  as  one  sees  in  a  field  of  dead  ripe  grain.  She 
was  doing  her  monthly  accounts,  and  the  showing  was  not 
pleasant.  She  was  a  good  housekeeper,  a  surprisingly  good 
manager ;  but  she  did  too  much  entertaining  for  their  income. 

Dory  was  too  much  occupied  with  the  picture  she  made  as 
she  sat  there  to  reply  immediately.  "  I  doubt,"  he  finally  re 
plied,  "  if  she  could  arrange  by  cable  for  some  one  else  whom 
she  would  trust  with  her  treasures.  No,  I  guess  you'll  have 
to  stay." 

"  I  wish  I  hadn't  taken  this  place!  "  she  exclaimed.  It  was 
the  first  confession  of  what  her  real,  her  sane  and  intelligent 
self  had  been  proclaiming  loudly  since  the  first  flush  of  interest 
18  265 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

and  pleasure  in  her  "  borrowed  plumage  "  had  receded.    "  Why 
do  you  let  me  make  a  fool  of  myself?  " 

"  No  use  going  into  that,"  replied  he,  on  guard  not  to  take 
too  seriously  this  belated  penitence.  He  was  used  to  Del's  fits 
of  remorse,  so  used  to  them  that  he  thought  them  less  valuable 
than  they  really  were,  or  might  have  been  had  he  understood 
her  better — or,  not  bothered  about  trying  to  understand  her. 
"  I  shan't  be  away  long,  I  imagine,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I'll  have 
to  rush  round  from  England  to  France,  to  Germany,  to  Austria, 
to  Switzerland.  All  that  would  be  exhausting  for  you,  and 
only  a  little  of  the  time  pleasant." 

His  words  sounded  to  her  like  a  tolling  over  the  grave  of 
that  former  friendship  and  comradeship  of  theirs.  "  I  really 
believe  you'll  be  glad  to  get  away  alone,"  cried  she,  lips  smiling 
raillery,  eyes  full  of  tears, 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  said  Dory,  as  if  tossing  back  her  jest. 
But  both  knew  the  truth,  and  each  knew  that  the  other  knew 
it.  He  was  as  glad  to  escape  from  those  surroundings  as  she  to  be 
relieved  of  a  presence  which  edged  on  her  other-self  to  scoff 
and  rail  and  sneer  at  her.  It  had  become  bitterness  to  him  to 
enter  the  gates  of  the  Villa  d'Orsay.  His  nerves  were  so 
wrought  up  that  to  look  about  the  magnificent  but  too  palace- 
like,  too  hotel-like  rooms  was  to  struggle  with  a  longing  to 
run  amuck  and  pause  not  until  he  had  reduced  the  splendor 
to  smithereens.  And  in  that  injustice  of  chronic  self-excuse 
which  characterizes  all  human  beings  who  do  not  live  by  in 
telligently  formed  and  intelligently  executed  plan,  she  was  now 
trying  to  soothe  herself  with  blaming  him  for  her  low  spirits; 
in  fact,  they  were  wholly  the  result  of  her  consciously  un 
worthy  mode  of  life,  and  of  an  incessant  internal  warfare,  ex 
hausting  and  depressing.  Also,  the  day  would  surely  come  when 
he  would  ask  how  she  was  contriving  to  keep  up  such  imposing 
appearances  on  their  eighteen  hundred  a  year;  and  then  she 
would  have  to  choose  between  directly  deceiving  him  and  tell 
ing  him  that  she  had  broken — no,  not  broken,  that  was  too 
harsh — rather,  had  not  yet  fulfilled  the  promise  to  give  up  the 
income  her  father  left  her. 

266 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


After  a  constrained  silence,  "  I  really  don't  need  anyone 
to  stop  here  with  me,"  she  said  to  him,  as  if  she  had  been 
thinking  of  it  and  not  of  the  situation  between  them,  "  but  I'll 
get  Stella  Wilmot  and  her  brother." 

"  Arden?  "  said  Dory,  doubtfully.  "  I  know  he's  all  right 
in  some  ways,  and  he  has  stopped  drinking  since  he  got  the  place 
at  the  bank.  But " 

"  If  we  show  we  have  confidence  in  him,"  replied  Adelaide, 
"  I  think  it  will  help  him." 

"  Very  wrell,"  said  Dory.  "  Besides,  it  isn't  easy  to  find  peo 
ple  of  the  sort  you'd  be  willing  to  have,  who  can  leave  home 
and  come  here." 

Adelaide  colored  as  she  smiled.  "  Perhaps  that  was  my  rea 
son,  rather  than  helping  him,"  she  said. 

Dory  flushed.  "  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  insinuate  that!  "  he 
protested,  and  checked  himself  from  saying  more.  In  their 
mood  each  would  search  the  other's  every  word  for  a  hidden 
thrust,  and  would  find  it. 

The  constraint  between  them,  which  thus  definitely  entered 
the  stage  of  deep  cleavage  where  there  had  never  been  a  join 
ing,  persisted  until  the  parting.  Since  the  wedding  he  had 
kissed  her  but  once — on  her  arrival  from  Europe.  Then,  there 
wras  much  bustle  of  greeting  from  others,  and  neither  had  had 
chance  to  be  self-conscious.  When  they  were  at  the  station  for 
his  departure,  it  so  happened  that  no  one  had  come  with  them. 
As  the  porter  warned  them  that  the  train  was  about  to  move, 
they  shook  hands  and  hesitated,  blushing  and  conscious  of  them 
selves  and  of  spectators.  "  Good-by,"  stammered  Dory,  with 
a  dash  at  her  cheek. 

"  Good-by,"  she  murmured,  making  her  effort  at  the  same 
instant. 

The  result  wras  a  confusion  of  features  and  hat  brims  that 
threw  them  into  a  panic,  then  into  laughter,  and  so  made  the 
second  attempt  easy  and  successful.  It  \vas  a  real  meeting  of 
the  lips.  His  arm  went  round  her,  her  hand  pressed  tenderly 
on  his  shoulder,  and  he  felt  a  trembling  in  her  form,  saw  a  sud 
den  gleam  of  light  leap  into  and  from  her  eyes.  And  all  in  that 

267 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

flash  the  secret  of  his  mistake  in  managing  his  love  affair  burst 
upon  him. 

"  Good-by,  Dory — dear,"  she  was  murmuring,  a  note  in  her 
voice  like  the  shy  answer  of  a  hermit  thrush  to  the  call  of  her 
mate. 

"  All  aboard !  "  shouted  the  conductor,  and  the  wheels  be 
gan  to  move. 

"  Good-by — good-by,"  he  stammered,  his  blood  surging 
through  his  head. 

It  came  into  her  mind  to  say,  "  I  care  for  you  more 
than  I  knew."  But  his  friend  the  conductor  was  thrust 
ing  him  up  the  steps  of  the  car.  "  I  wish  I  had  said  it," 
thought  she,  watching  the  train  disappear  round  the  curve. 
"  I'll  write  it." 

But  she  did  not.  When  the  time  came  to  write,  that  idea 
somehow  would  not  fit  in  with  the  other  things  she  was  setting 
down.  "  I  think  I  do  care  for  him — as  a  friend,"  she  decided. 
"  If  he  had  only  compelled  me  to  find  out  the  state  of  my  own 
mind !  What  a  strange  man !  I  don't  see  how  he  can  love 
me,  for  he  knows  me  as  I  am.  Perhaps  he  really  doesn't ;  some 
times  I  think  he  couldn't  care  for  a  woman  as  a  woman  wants 
to  be  cared  for."  Then  as  his  face  as  she  had  last  seen  it  rose 
before  her,  and  her  lips  once  more  tingled,  "  Oh,  yes,  he  does 
care!  And  without  his  love  how  wretched  I'd  be!  What  a 
greedy  I  am — wanting  his  love  and  taking  it,  and  giving  nothing 
in  return."  That  last  more  than  half-sincere,  though  she,  like 
not  a  few  of  her  sisters  in  the  "  Woman's  Paradise,"  otherwise 
known  as  the  United  States  of  America,  had  been  spoiled  into 
greatly  exaggerating  the  value  of  her  graciously  condescending 
to  let  herself  be  loved. 

And  she  was  lonely  without  him.  If  he  could  have  come 
back  at  the  end  of  a  week  or  a  month,  he  would  have  been  re 
ceived  with  an  ardor  that  would  have  melted  every  real  obstacle 
between  them.  Also,  it  would  have  dissipated  the  far  more 
obstructive  imaginary  obstacles  from  their  infection  with  the 
latter-day  vice  of  psychologizing  about  matters  which  lie  in  the 
realm  of  physiology,  not  of  psychology.  But  he  did  not  come; 

268 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


and  absence,  like  bereavement,  has  its  climax,  after  which  the 
thing  that  was  begins  to  be  as  if  it  had  not  been. 

He  was  gone ;  and  that  impetuous  parting  caress  of  his  had 
roused  in  her  an  impulse  that  would  never  again  sleep,  would 
pace  its  cage  restlessly,  eager  for  the  chance  to  burst  forth. 
And  he  had  roused  it  when  he  would  not  be  there  to  make  its 
imperious  clamor  personal  to  himself. 

As  Estelle  was  at  her  shop  all  day,  and  not  a  few  of  the 
evenings,  Del  began  to  see  much  of  Henrietta  Hastings.  Grand 
father  Fuller  was  now  dead  and  forgotten  in  the  mausoleum 
into  which  he  had  put  one-fifth  of  his  fortune,  to  the  great  dis 
content  of  the  heirs.  Henrietta's  income  had  expanded  from 
four  thousand  a  year  to  twenty;  and  she  spent  her  days  in 
thinking  of  and  talking  of  the  careers  to  which  she  could  help 
her  husband  if  he  would  only  shake  off  the  lethargy  which  seized 
him  the  year  after  his  marriage  to  a  Fuller  heiress.  But  Hast 
ings  would  not;  he  was  happy  in  his  books  and  in  his  local  re 
pute  for  knowing  everything  there  was  to  be  known.  Month 
by  month  he  gre\v  fatter  and  lazier  and  slower  of  speech.  Hen 
rietta  pretended  to  be  irritated  against  him,  and  the  town 
had  the  habit  of  saying  that  "If  Hastings  had  some  of  his 
wife's  *  get  up '  he  wouldn't  be  making  her  unhappy  but 
would  be  winning  a  big  name  for  himself."  In  fact,  had 
Hastings  tried  to  bestir  himself  at  something  definite  in  the 
way  of  action,  Henrietta  would  have  been  really  disturbed 
instead  of  simply  pretending  to  be.  She  had  a  good  mind,  a 
keen  wit  that  had  become  bitter  with  unlicensed  indulgence ; 
but  she  was  as  indolent  and  purposeless  as  her  husband.  All 
her  energy  went  in  talk  about  doing  something,  and  every 
day  she  had  a  new  scheme,  with  yesterday's  forgotten  or  dis 
dained. 

Adelaide  pretended  to  herself  to  regard  Henrietta  as  an  en 
ergetic  and  stimulating  person,  though  she  knew  that  Henri 
etta's  energy,  like  her  own,  like  that  of  most  women  of  the 
sheltered,  servant-attended  class,  was  a  mere  blowing  off  of 
steam  by  an  active  but  valveless  engine  of  a  mind.  But  this 

269 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

pretense  enabled  her  to  justify  herself  for  long  mornings  and 
afternoons  at  the  Country  Club  with  Henrietta.  They  talked 
of  activity,  of  accomplishing  this  and  that  and  the  other;  they 
read  fitfully  at  serious  books;  they  planned  novels  and  plays; 
they  separated  each  day  with  a  comfortable  feeling  that  they 
had  been  usefully  employed.  And  each  did  learn  much  from 
the  other;  but,  as  each  confirmed  the  other  in  the  habitual 
mental  vices  of  the  women,  and  of  an  increasing  number  of  the 
men,  of  our  quite  comfortable  classes,  the  net  result  of  their 
intercourse  was  pitifully  poor,  the  poorer  for  their  fond  de 
lusions  that  they  were  improving  themselves.  They  laughed 
at  the  "  culture  craze  "  which,  raging  westward,  had  seized 
upon  all  the  women  of  Saint  X  with  incomes,  or  with  husbands 
or  fathers  to  support  them  in  idleness — the  craze  for  thinking, 
reading,  and  talking  cloudily  or  muddily  on  cloudy  or  muddy 
subjects.  Henrietta  and  Adelaide  jeered;  yet  they  were  them 
selves  the  victims  of  another,  and,  if  possible,  more  poisonous, 
bacillus  of  the  same  sluggard  family. 

One  morning  Adelaide,  in  graceful  ease  in  her  favorite  nook 
in  the  small  northwest  portico  of  the  club  house,  was  reading 
a  most  imposingly  bound  and  illustrated  work  on  Italian  ar 
chitecture  written  by  a  smatterer  for  smatterers.  She  did  a  great 
deal  of  reading  in  this  direction  because  it  was  also  the  direction 
of  her  talent,  and  so  she  could  make  herself  think  she  was  getting 
ready  to  join  in  Dory's  work  when  he  returned.  She  heard  foot 
steps  just  round  the  corner,  and  looked  up.  She  and  Ross 
Whitney  were  face  to  face. 

1  There  was  no  chance  for  evasion.  He,  with  heightened 
^olor,  lifted  his  hat;  she,  with  a  nonchalance  that  made  her 
proud  of  herself,  smiled  and  stretched  out  her  hand.  "Hello, 
Ross,"  said  she,  languidly  friendly.  "  When  did  you  come  to 
town  ?  "  And  she  congratulated  herself  that  her  hair  had  gone 
up  so  well  that  morning  and  that  her  dress  was  one  of  her  most 
becoming — from  Paris,  from  Paquin — a  year  old,  it  is  true, 
but  later  than  the  latest  in  Saint  X  and  fashionable  even  for 
Sherry's  at  lunch  time. 

Ross,  the  expert,  got  himself  together  and  made  cover  with- 

270 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


out  any  seeming  of  scramble;  but  his  not  quite  easy  eyes  be 
trayed  him  to  her.  "  About  two  hours  ago,"  replied  he. 

"Is  Theresa  with  you?"  She  gazed  tranquilly  at  him  as 
she  fired  this  center  shot.  She  admired  the  coolness  with  which 
he  received  it. 

"  No;  she's  up  at  her  father's  place — on  the  lake  shore,"  he 
answered.  He,  too,  was  looking  particularly  well,  fresh  yet 
experienced,  and  in  dress  a  model,  \vith  his  serge  of  a  strange, 
beautiful  shade  of  blue,  his  red  tie  and  socks,  and  his  ruby-set 
cuff-links.  "  Mr.  Rowland  is  ill,  and  she's  nursing  him.  I'm 
taking  a  few  days  off — came  down  to  try  to  sell  father's  place 
for  him." 

"  You're  going  to  sell  Point  Helen?  "  said  Adelaide,  politely 
regretful.  "  Then  I  suppose  we  shan't  see  your  people  here  any 
more.  Your  mother'll  no  doubt  spend  most  of  her  time  abroad, 
now  that  Janet  is  married  there." 

Ross  did  not  answer  immediately.  He  was  looking  into  the 
distance,  his  expression  melancholy.  His  abstraction  gave  Ade 
laide  a  chance  to  verify  the  impression  she  had  got  from  a  swift 
but  femininely  penetrating  first  glance.  Yes,  he  did  look  older; 
no,  not  exactly  older — sad,  rather.  Evidently  he  was  unhappy, 
distinctly  unhappy.  And  as  handsome  and  as  tasteful  as  ever — 
the  band  of  his  straw  hat,  the  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  his  tie, 
his  socks — all  in  harmony;  no  ostentation,  just  the  unerring, 
quiet  taste  of  a  gentleman.  What  a  satisfactory  person  to  look 
at!  To  be  sure,  his  character —  However,  character  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  e)-e-pleasures,  and  they  are  undeniably  agreeable. 
Then  there  wrere  his  manners,  and  his  mind — such  a  man  of  the 
world !  Of  course  he  wasn't  for  one  instant  to  be  compared 
with  Dory — who  was?  Still,  it  was  a  pity  that  Dory  had  a 
prejudice  against  showing  all  that  he  really  was,  a  pity  he  had 
to  be  known  to  be  appreciated — that  is,  appreciated  by  the 
"  right  sort  "  of  people.  Of  course,  the  observant  few  could 
see  him  in  his  face,  which  was  certainly  distinguished — yes, 
far  more  distinguished  than  Ross's,  if  not  so  regularly  hand 
some. 

4<  I've  been  looking  over  the  old  place,"  Ross  was  saying, 

271 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  and  I've  decided  to  ask  father  to  keep  it.  Theresa  doesn't 
like  it  here;  but  I  do,  and  I  can't  bring  myself  to  cut  the  last 
cords.  As  I  wandered  over  the  place  I  found  myself  getting 
so  sad  and  sentimental  that  I  hurried  away  to  escape  a  fit  of 
the  blues." 

"  We're  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  talk,"  said  Adelaide  with 
a  mocking  smile  in  her  delightful  eyes.  "  People  who  used  to 
live  here  and  come  back  on  business  occasionally  always  tell  us 
how  much  more  beautiful  Saint  X  is  than  any  other  place  on 
earth.  But  they  take  the  first  train  for  Chicago  or  Cincinnati 
or  anywhere  at  all." 

"So  you  find  it  dull  here?" 

"  I  ?  "  Adelaide  shrugged  her  charming  shoulders  slightly. 
"  Not  so  very.  My  life  is  here — the  people,  the  things  I'm  used 
to.  I've  a  sense  of  peace  that  I  don't  have  anywhere  else." 
She  gazed  dreamily  away.  "  And  peace  is  the  greatest  asset." 

"  The  greatest  asset,"  repeated  Ross  absently.  "  You  are 
to  be  envied." 

"  /  think  so,"  assented  she,  a  curious  undertone  of  defiance 
in  her  voice.  She  had  a  paniclike  impulse  to  begin  to  talk  of 
Dory;  but,  though  she  cast  about  diligently,  she  could  find  no 
way  of  introducing  him  that  would  not  have  seemed  awkward 
— pointed  and  provincially  prudish. 

"  What  are  you  reading?  "  he  asked  presently. 

She  turned  the  book  so  that  he  could  see  the  title.  His  eyes 
wandered  from  it  to  linger  on  her  slender  white  fingers — on 
the  one  where  a  plain  band  of  gold  shone  eloquently.  It  fasci 
nated  and  angered  him ;  and  she  saw  it,  and  was  delighted.  Her 
voice  had  a  note  of  triumph  in  it  as  she  said,  putting  the  book 
on  the  table  beside  her,  "  Foolish,  isn't  it,  to  be  reading  how 
to  build  beautiful  houses  " — she  was  going  to  say,  "  when  one 
will  probably  never  build  any  house  at  all."  She  bethought  her 
that  this  might  sound  like  a  sigh  over  Dory's  poverty  and  over 
the  might-have-been.  So  she  ended,  "  when  the  weather  is  so 
deliciously  lazy." 

"  I  know  the  chap  who  wrote  it,"  said  Ross.  "  Clever — 
really  unusual  talent.  But  the  fashionable  women  took  him  up, 

272 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


made  him  a  toady  and  a  snob,  like  the  rest  of  the  men  of  their 
set.  How  that  sort  of  thing  eats  out  manhood  and  woman 
hood!" 

Just  what  Dory  often  said !  "  My  husband  says,"  she  an 
swered,  "  that  whenever  the  world  has  got  a  fair  start  toward 
becoming  civilized,  along  have  come  wealth  and  luxury  to 
smother  and  kill.  It's  very  interesting  to  read  history  from  that 
standpoint,  instead  of  taking  the  usual  view — that  luxury  pro 
duces  the  arts  and  graces." 

"  Dory  is  a  remarkable  man,"  said  Ross  with  enthusiasm. 
"  He's  amazingly  modest ;  but  there  are  some  men  so  big  that 
they  can't  hide,  no  matter  how  hard  they  try.  He's  one  of 
them." 

Adelaide  was  in  a  glow,  so  happy  did  this  sincere  and  just 
tribute  make  her,  so  relieved  did  she  feel.  She  was  talking 
to  one  of  Dory's  friends  and  admirers,  not  with  an  old  sweet 
heart  of  hers  about  whom  her  heart,  perhaps,  might  be — well, 
a  little  sore,  and  from  whom  radiated  a  respectful,  and  there 
fore  subtle,  suggestion  that  the  past  was  very  much  the  pres 
ent  for  him.  She  hastened  to  expand  upon  Don7,  upon  his 
work;  and,  as  she  talked  of  the  university,  she  found  she  had 
a  pride  in  it,  and  an  interest,  and  a  knowledge,  too,  which  as 
tonished  her.  And  Ross  listened,  made  appreciative  comments. 
And  so,  on  and  on.  When  Henrietta  came  they  were  laughing 
and  talking  like  the  best  of  old  friends ;  and  at  Ross's  invitation 
the  three  lunched  at  the  club  and  spent  the  afternoon  together. 

"  I  think  marriage  has  improved  Ross,"  said  Henrietta,  as 
she  and  Adelaide  were  driving  home  together  after  tea — tea 
with  Ross. 

"  Theresa  is  a  very  sweet  woman,"  said  Adelaide  dutifully. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that — any  more  than  you  do,"  replied 
Henrietta.  "  I  mean  marriage  has  chastened  him — the  only 
way  it  ever  improves  anybody." 

"  No  doubt  he  and  Theresa  are  happy  together,"  said  Ade 
laide,  clinging  to  her  pretense  with  a  persistence  that  might  have 
given  her  interesting  and  valuable  light  upon  herself  had  she 
noted  it. 

273 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"Happy?"  Henrietta  Hastings  laughed.  "Only  stupid 
people  are  happy,  my  dear.  Theresa  may  be  happy,  but  not 
Ross.  He's  far  too  intelligent.  And  Theresa  isn't  capable  of 
giving  him  even  those  moments  of  happiness  that  repay  the 
intelligent  for  their  routine  of  the  other  sort  of  thing." 

"  Marriage  doesn't  mean  much  in  a  man's  life,"  said  Ade 
laide.  "  He  has  his  business  or  profession.  He  is  married  only 
part  of  each  day,  and  that  the  least  important  part  to  him." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Henrietta,  "  marriage  is  for  a  man  simply 
a  peg.  .in  his  shoe — in  place  or,  as  with  Ross  Whitney,  out  of 
place.  One  look  at  his  face  was  enough  to  show  me  that  he  was 
limping  and  aching  and  groaning." 

Adelaide  found  this  pleasantry  amusing  far  beyond  its  merits. 
"  You  can't  tell,"  said  she.  "  Theresa  doesn't  seem  the  same  to 
him  that  she  does  to — to  us." 

"  Worse,"  replied  Henrietta,  "  worse.  It's  fortunate  they're 
rich.  If  the  better  class  of  people  hadn't  the  money  that  enables 
them  to  put  buffers  round  themselves,  wife-beating  wouldn't  be 
confined  to  the  slums.  Think  of  life  in  one  or  two  small  rooms 
with  a  Theresa  Howland !  " 

Adelaide  had  fallen,  as  far  as  could  one  of  her  generous  and 
toierant  disposition,  into  Henrietta's  most  infectious  habit  of 
girding  at  everyone  humorously — the  favorite  pastime  of  the 
idle  who  are  profoundly  discontented  with  themselves.  By  the 
time  Mrs.  Hastings  left  her  at  the  lofty  imported  gates  of 
Villa  d'Orsay,  they  had  done  the  subject  of  Theresa  full  jus 
tice,  and  Adelaide  entered  the  house  with  that  sense  of  self- 
contempt  which  cannot  but  come  to  any  decent  person  after 
meting  out  untempered  justice  to  a  fellow-mortal.  This  did! 
not  last,  however ;  the  pleasure  in  the  realization  that  Ross  did 
not  care  for  Theresa  and  did  care  for  herself  was  too  keen. 
As  the  feminine  test  of  feminine  success  is  the  impression  a 
woman  makes  upon  men,  Adelaide  would  have  been  neither 
human  nor  woman  had  she  not  been  pleased  with  Ross's  discreet 
and  sincerely  respectful,  and  by  no  means  deliberate  or  design 
ing  disclosure.  It  was  not  the  proof  of  her  power  to  charm 
the  male  that  had  made  her  indignant  at  herself.  "  How  weak 

274 


VILLA    D'ORSAY 


we  women  are !  "  she  said  to  herself,  trying  to  assume  a  peni 
tence  she  could  not  make  herself  feel.  "  We  really  ought  to  be 
locked  a\vay  in  harems.  No  doubt  Dory  trusts  me  absolutely — 
that's  because  other  women  are  no  temptation  to  him — that  is, 
I  suppose  they  aren't.  If  he  were  different,  he'd  be  afraid  I 
had  his  weakness — we  all  think  even-body  has  at  least  a  touch 
of  our  infirmities.  Of  course  I  can  be  trusted ;  I've  sense  enough 
not  to  have  my  head  turned  by  what  may  have  been  a  mere  clever 
attempt  to  smooth  over  the  past."  Then  she  remembered  Ross's 
look  at  her  hand,  at  her  wedding  ring,  and  Henrietta's  con 
firmation  of  her  own  diagnosis.  "  But  why  should  that  in 
terest  me"  she  thought,  impatient  with  herself  for  lingering 
where  her  ideal  of  self-respect  forbade.  "  I  don't  love  Ross 
Whitney.  He  pleases  me,  as  he  pleases  any  woman  he  wishes 
to  make  an  agreeable  impression  upon.  And,  naturally,  I  like  to 
know  that  he  really  did  care  for  me  and  is  ashamed  and  re 
pentant  of  the  baseness  that  made  him  act  as  he  did.  But  be 
yond  that,  I  care  nothing  about  him — nothing.  I  may  not  care 
for  Dory  exactly  as  I  should;  but  at  least  knowing  him  has 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  go  back  to  the  Ross  sort  of  man." 

That  seemed  clear  and  satisfactory.  But,  strangely,  her 
mind  jumped  to  the  somewhat  unexpected  conclusion,  "  /vrid 
I'll  not  see  him  again." 

She  wrote  Dory  that  night  a  long,  long  letter,  the  nearest 
to  a  love  letter  she  had  ever  written  him.  She  brought  Ross 
in  quite  casually;  yet —  \Vhat  is  the  mystery  of  the  telltale 
penumbra  round  the  written  word  ?  Why  was  it  that  Dory, 
in  far-away  Vienna,  with  the  memory  of  her  strong  and  of  the 
Villa  d'Orsay  dim,  reading  the  letter  for  the  first  time,  thought 
it  the  best  he  had  ever  got  from  her;  and  the  next  morning, 
reading  it  again,  could  think  of  nothing  but  Ross,  and  what 
Adelaide  had  really  thought  about  him  deep  down  in  that  dark 
well  of  the  heart  where  we  rarely  let  even  our  own  eyes  look 
intently? 


275 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

A    STROLL    IN    A    BYPATH 

OSS  had  intended  to  dine  at  the  club;  but  Mrs. 
Hastings's  trap  was  hardly  clear  of  the  grounds 
when  he,  to  be  free  to  think  uninterruptedly,  set 
out  through  the  woods  for  Point  Helen. 

Even  had  he  had  interests  more  absorbing 
than  pastimes,  display,  and  money-making  by  the 
"  brace  "  game  of  "  high  finance  "  with  its  small  risks  of  losing 
and  smaller  risks  of  being  caught,  even  if  he  had  been  married 
to  a  less  positive  and  incessant  irritant  than  Theresa  was  to 
him,  he  would  still  not  have  forgotten  Adelaide.  Forgetfulness 
comes  with  the  finished  episode,  never  with  the  unfinished.  In 
the  circumstances,  there  could  be  but  one  effect  from  seeing  her 
again.  His  regrets  blazed  up  into  fierce  remorse,  became  the 
reckless  raging  of  a  passion  to  which  obstacles  and  difficulties 
are  as  fuel  to  fire. 

Theresa,  once  the  matter  of  husband-getting  was  safely 
settled,  had  no  restraint  of  prudence  upon  her  self-complacence. 
She  "  let  herself  go  "  completely,  with  results  upon  her  char 
acter,  her  mind,  and  her  personal  appearance  that  were  de 
pressing  enough  to  the  casual  beholder,  but  appalling  to  those 
who  were  in  her  intimacy  of  the  home.  Ross  watched  her  de 
teriorate  in  gloomy  and  unreproving  silence.  She  got  herself 
together  sufficiently  for  as  good  public  appearance  as  a  person 
of  her  wealth  and  position  needed  to  make,  he  reasoned;  what 
did  it  matter  how  she  looked  and  talked  at  home  where,  after 
all,  the  only  person  she  could  hope  to  please  was  herself?  He 
held  aloof,  drawn  from  his  aloofness  occasionally  by  her  whim 
to  indulge  herself  in  what  she  regarded  as  proofs  of  his  love. 


A    STROLL    IN    A    BYPATH 


Her  pouting,  her  whimpering,  her  abject  but  meaningless  self- 
depreciation,  her  tears,  were  potent,  not  for  the  flattering  reason 
she  assigned,  but  because  he,  out  of  pity  for  her  and  self-re 
proach,  and  dread  of  her  developing  her  mother's  weakness, 
would  lash  himself  into  the  small  show  of  tenderness  sufficient 
to  satisfy  her. 

And  now,  steeped  in  the  gall  of  as  bitter  a  draught  as  ex 
perience  forces  folly  to  drink  anew  each  day  to  the  dregs — the 
realization  that,  though  the  man  marries  the  money  only,  he 
lives  with  the  wife  only — Ross  had  met  Adelaide  again.  "  I'll 
go  to  Chicago  in  the  morning,"  was  his  conclusion.  "  I'll  do 
the  honorable  thing  " — he  sneered  at  himself — "  since  trying 
the  other  would  only  result  in  her  laughing  at  me  and  in  my 
being  still  more  miserable." 

But  when  morning  came  he  was  critical  of  the  clothes  his 
valet  offered  him,  spent  an  hour  in  getting  himself  groomed  for 
public  appearance,  then  appeared  at  the  Country  Club  for  break 
fast  instead  of  driving  to  the  station.  And  after  breakfast, 
he  put  off  his  departure  "  until  to-morrow  or  next  day,"  and 
went  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hastings.  And  what  more  natuial 
then  than  that  Henrietta  should  take  him  to  the  Villa  d'Orsay 
"  to  show  you  how  charmingly  Del  has  installed  herself." 
11  And  perhaps,"  said  Henrietta,  "  she  and  Arden  Wilmot  will 
go  for  a  drive.  He  has  quit  the  bank  because  they  objected  to 
his  resting  two  hours  in  the  middle  of  the  day."  What  more 
natural  than  that  Adelaide  should  alter  her  resolution  under 
the  compulsion  of  circumstance,  should  spend  the  entire  morn 
ing  in  the  gardens,  she  with  Ross,  Henrietta  with  Arden? 
Finally,  to  avoid  strain  upon  her  simple  domestic  arrangements 
in  that  period  of  retrenchment,  what  more  natural  than  falling 
in  with  Ross's  proposal  of  lunch  at  Indian  Mound  ?  And  who 
ever  came  back  in  a  hurry  from  Indian  Mound,  with  its  quaint 
vast  earthworks,  its  ugly,  incredibly  ancient  potteries  and  flint 
instruments  that  could  be  uncovered  anywhere  writh  the  point 
of  a  cane  or  parasol;  its  superb  panorama,  bounded  by  the  far 
blue  hills  where,  in  days  that  were  ancient  when  history  began, 
fires  were  lighted  by  sentinels  to  signal  the  enemy's  approach 

277 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

to  a  people  whose  very  dust,  whose  very  name  has  perished? 
It  was  six  o'clock  before  they  began  the  return  drive;  at  seven 
they  were  passing  the  Country  Club,  and,  of  course,  they 
dined  there  and  joined  in  the  little  informal  dance  afterwards; 
and  later,  supper  and  cooling  drinks  in  a  corner  of  the  veranda, 
with  the  moon  streaming  upon  them  and  the  enchanted  breath 
of  the  forest  enchaining  the  senses. 

What  a  day !  How  obligingly  all  unpleasant  thoughts  fled ! 
How  high  and  bright  rose  the  mountains  all  round  the  horizon 
of  the  present,  shutting  out  yesterday  and  to-morrow!  "This 
has  been  the  happy  day  of  my  life,"  said  Ross  as  they  lingered 
behind  the  other  two  on  the  way  to  the  last  'bus  for  the  town. 
"  The  happiest  " — in  a  lower  tone — "  thus  far." 

And  Del  was  sparkling  assent,  encouragement  even;  and 
her  eyes  were  gleaming  defiantly  at  the  only-too-plainly-to-be- 
read  faces  of  the  few  hilltop  people  still  left  at  the  club  house. 
"  Surely  a  woman  has  the  right  to  enjoy  herself  innocently  in 
the  twentieth  century,"  she  was  saying  to  herself.  "  Dory 
wouldn't  want  me  to  sit  moping  alone.  I  am  young;  I'll  have 
enough  of  that  after  I'm  old — one  is  old  so  much  longer  than 
young."  And  she  looked  up  at  Ross,  and  very  handsome  he 
was  in  that  soft  moonlight,  his  high-blazing  passion  glorifying 
his  features.  "  I,  too,  have  been  happy,"  she  said  to  him.  Then, 
with  a  vain  effort  to  seem  and  to  believe  herself  at  ease,  "  I 
wish  Dory  could  have  been  along." 

But  Ross  was  not  abashed  by  the  exorcism  of  that  name; 
her  bringing  it  in  was  too  strained,  would  have  been  amusing 
if  passion  were  not  devoid  of  the  sense  of  humor.  "  She  doe* 
care  for  me !  "  he  was  thinking  dizzily.  "  And  I  can't  live, 
without  her — and  won't !  " 

His  mother  had  been  writing  him  her  discoveries  that  his 
father,  in  wretched  health  and  goaded  by  physical  torment  to 
furious  play  at  the  green  tables  of  "  high  finance,"  was  losing 
steadily,  swiftly,  heavily.  But  Ross  read  her  letters  as  in 
differently  as  he  read  Theresa's  appeals  to  him  to  come  to  Wind- 
rift.  It  took  a  telegram — "  Matters  much  worse  than  I 

278 


A    STROLL    IN    A    BYPATH 


thought.  You  must  be  here  to  talk  with  him  before  he  begins 
business  to-morrow  " — to  shock  him  into  the  realization  that 
he  had  been  imperiling  the  future  he  was  dreaming  of  and 
planning — his  and  Del's  future. 

On  the  way  to  the  train  he  stopped  at  the  Villa  d'Orsay, 
[saw  her  and  Henrietta  at  the  far  end  of  Mrs.  Dorsey's  famed 
'white-and-gold  garden.  Henrietta  was  in  the  pavilion  reading. 
A  few  yards  away  Adelaide,  head  bent  and  blue  sunshade  slowly 
turning  as  it  rested  on  her  shoulder,  was  strolling  round  the 
great  flower-rimmed,  lily-strewn  outer  basin  of  Mrs.  Dorsey's 
famed  fountain,  the  school  of  crimson  fish,  like  a  streak  of  fire 
in  the  water,  following  her.  When  she  saw  him  coming  to 
ward  them  in  traveling  suit,  instead  of  the  white  serge  he  al 
ways  wore  on  such  days  as  was  that,  she  knew  he  was  going 
away — a  fortunate  forewarning,  for  she  thus  had  time  to  force 
a  less  telltale  expression  before  he  announced  the  reason  for  his 
call.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  days— a  very 
few." 

"  Oh !  "  was  all  Del  said ;  but  her  tone  of  relief,  her  sudden 
brightening,  were  more  significant  than  any  words  could  have 
been. 

Henrietta  now  joined  them.  "You  take  the  afternoon  ex 
press?  "  said  she. 

Ross  could  not  conceal  how  severe  a  test  of  his  civility  this 
interruption  was.  "  Yes,"  said  he.  "  My  trap  is  in  front  of  the 
house." 

There  he  colored  before  Henrietta's  expression,  a  mingling 
of  amusement,  indignation,  and  contempt,  a  caustic  comment 
upon  his  disregard  of  the  effect  of  such  indiscretion  upon  a 
Saint  X  young  married  woman's  reputation.  "  Then,"  said 
she,  looking  straight  and  significantly  at  him,  "  you'll  be  able 
to  drop  me  at  my  house  on  the  way." 

"  Certainly,"  was  his  prompt  assent.  When  Saint  X's 
morality  police  should  see  him  leaving  the  grounds  with  her, 
they  would  be  silenced  as  to  this  particular  occurrence  at  least 
After  a  few  minutes  of  awkward  commonplaces,  he  and  Hen 
rietta  went  up  the  lawns,  leaving  Del  there.  At  the  last  point 

279 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

from  which  the  end  of  the  garden  could  be  seen,  he  dropped 
behind,  turned,  saw  her  in  exactly  the  same  position,  the  foun 
tain  and  the  water  lilies  before  her,  the  center  and  climax  of 
those  stretches  of  white-and-gold  blossoms.  The  sunshade  rested 
lightly  upon  her  shoulder,  and  its  azure  concave  made  a  har 
monious  background  for  her  small,  graceful  head  with  the 
airily  plumed  hat  set  so  becomingly  upon  those  waves  of  dead- 
gold  hair.  He  waved  to  her;  but  she  made  no  sign  of  having 
seen. 

When  Henrietta  returned,  Adelaide  had  resumed  her  rev 
erie  and  her  slow  march  round  the  fountain.  Henrietta  watched 
with  a  quizzical  expression  for  some  time  before  saying:  "  If 
I  hadn't  discouraged  him,  I  believe  he'd  have  blurted  it  all  out 
to  me — all  he  came  to  say  to  you." 

Del  was  still  absent-minded  as  she  answered :  "  It's  too  ab 
surd.  People  are  so  censorious,  so  low-minded." 

"  They  are,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Hastings.  "  And,  I'm  sorry  to 
say,  as  a  rule  they're  right." 

The  curve  of  Del's  delicate  eyebrows  and  of  her  lips 
straightened. 

"  All  the  trouble  comes  through  our  having  nothing  to  do," 
pursued  Henrietta,  disregarding  those  signs  that  her  "  med 
dling  "  was  unwelcome.  "  The  idle  women!  We  ought  to  be 
busy  at  something  useful — you  and  I  and  the  rest  of  'em.  Then 
we'd  not  be  tempted  to  kill  time  doing  things  that  cause  gossip, 
and  may  cause  scandal."  Seeing  that  Adelaide  was  about  to 
make  some  curt  retort,  she  added :  "  Now,  don't  pretend,  Del. 
You  know,  yourself,  that  they're  always  getting  into  mischief 
and  getting  the  men  into  mischief." 

"  Don't  you  ever  feel,  Henrietta,  that  we're  simply  straws 
in  the  strong  wind  ?  " 

"  Fate  sometimes  does  force  mischief  on  men  and  women," 
was  Henrietta's  retort,  "  and  it  ceases  to  be  mischief — becomes 
something  else,  I'm  not  sure  just  what.  But  usually  fate  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  It's  we  ourselves  that  course 
for  mischief,  like  a  dog  for  rabbits." 

280 


"'I'll  be  back  in  a  few  days — a  very   few. 


A    STROLL    IN    A    BYPATH 


Del,  in  sudden  disdain  of  evasion,  faced  her  with,  "  Well, 
Henrietta,  what  of  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hastings  elevated  and  lowered  her  shoulders.  "  Sim 
ply  that  you're  seeing  too  much  of  Ross — too  much  for  his  good, 
if  not  for  your  own." 

Del's  sunshade  was  revolving  impatiently. 

"  It's  as  plain  as  black  on  white,"  continued  Mrs.  Hastings, 
"  that  he's  madly  in  love  with  you — in  love  as  only  an  expe 
rienced  man  can  be  with  an  experienced  and  developed  woman." 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  "     Del's  tone  was  hostile,  defiant. 

"  You  can't  abruptly  stop  seeing  him.  Everyone'd  say  you 
and  he  were  meeting  secretly." 

"Really!" 

"  But  you  can  be  careful  how  you  treat  him.  You  can 
show  him,  and  everybody,  that  there's  nothing  in  it.  You 
must — "  Henrietta  hesitated,  dared;  "  you  must  be  just  friendly, 
as  you  are  with  Arden  and  the  rest  of  the  men." 

Hiram's  daughter  was  scarlet.  Full  a  minute,  and  a  very 
full  minute,  of  silence.  Then  Adelaide  said  coldly:  "Thank 
you.  And  now  that  you've  freed  your  mind  I  hope  you'll 
keep  it  free  for  your  own  affairs." 

"  Ouch !  "  cried  Henrietta,  making  a  wry  face.  And  she 
devoted  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  to  what  she  realized,  at  the 
parting,  was  the  vain  task  of  mollifying  Del.  She  knew  that 
thenceforth  she  and  Adelaide  would  drift  apart;  and  she  was 
sorry,  for  she  liked  her — liked  to  talk  with  her,  liked  to  go 
about  with  her.  Adelaide's  beauty  attracted  the  men,  and  a 
male  audience  was  essential  to  Henrietta's  happiness ;  she  found 
the  conversation  of  women — the  women  she  felt  socially  at 
ease  with — tedious,  and  .their  rather  problematic  power  of  ap 
preciation  limited  to  what  came  from  men.  As  she  grew  older, 
and  less  and  less  pleasing  to  the  eye,  the  men  showed  more  and 
more  clearly  how  they  had  deceived  themselves  in  thinking  it 
was  her  brains  that  had  made  them  like  her.  As  Henrietta, 
with  mournful  cynicism,  put  it:  "Men  the  world  over  care 
little  about  women  beyond  their  physical  charm.  To  realize 
it,  look  at  us  American  women,  who  can  do  nothing  toward 
19  281 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

furthering  men's  ambitions.  We've  only  our  physical  charms 
to  offer ;  we  fall  when  we  lose  them.  And  so  our  old  women 
and  our  homely  women,  except  those  that  work  or  that  have 
big  houses  and  social  power,  have  no  life  of  their  own,  live  on 
sufferance,  alone  or  the  slaves  of  their  daughters  or  of  some 
pretty  young  woman  to  whom  they  attach  themselves." 

The  days  dragged  for  Adelaide.  "  I'm  afraid  he'll  write," 
said  she — meaning  that  she  hoped  he  would.  Indeed,  she  felt 
that  he  had  written,  but  had  destroyed  the  letters.  And  she 
was  right;  almost  all  the  time  he  could  spare  from  his  efforts 
to  save  his  father  from  a  sick  but  obstinately  active  man's  bad 
judgment  was  given  to  writing  to  her — formal  letters  which 
he  tore  up  as  too  formal,  passionate  letters  which  he  destroyed 
as  unwarranted  and  unwise,  when  he  had  not  yet,  face  to  face, 
in  words,  told  her  his  love  and  drawn  from  her  what  he  be 
lieved  was  in  her  heart.  The  days  dragged;  she  kept  away 
from  Henrietta,  from  all  "  our  set,"  lest  they  should  read  in 
her  dejected  countenance  the  truth,  and  more. 


282 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

DR.    MADELENE    PRESCRIBES 

ADELENE'S  anteroom  was  full  of  poor  people. 
They  flocked  to  her,  though  she  did  not  pauper 
ize  them  by  giving  her  services  free.  She  had 
got  the  reputation  of  miraculous  cures,  the 
theory  in  the  tenements  being  that  her  father 
had  swindled  his  satanic  "  familiar  "  by  teach 
ing  his  daughter  without  price  what  he  had  had  to  pay  for  with 
his  immortal  soul.  Adelaide  refused  the  chair  a  sick-looking 
young  artisan  awkwardly  pressed  upon  her.  Leaning  against 
the  window  seat,  she  tried  to  interest  herself  in  her  fellow- 
invalids.  But  she  had  not  then  the  secret  \vhich  unlocks 
the  mystery  of  faces ;  she  was  still  in  the  darkness  in  which 
most  of  us  proudly  strut  away  our  lives,  deriding  as  dreamers 
or  cranks  those  who  are  in  the  light  and  see.  With  al 
most  all  of  us  the  innate  sympathies  of  race,  which  give  even 
wolves  and  vultures  the  sense  of  fraternal  companionship  in 
the  storm  and  stress  of  the  struggle  for  existence,  are  deep 
overlaid  with  various  kinds  of  that  egotistic  ignorance  called 
class  feeling.  Adelaide  felt  sorry  for  "  the  poor,"  but  she  had 
yet  to  learn  that  she  was  of  them,  as  poor  in  other  and  more 
important  ways  as  they  in  money  and  drawing-room  manners. 
Surfaces  and  the  things  of  the  surface  obscured  or  distorted 
all  the  realities  for  her,  as  for  most  of  us;  and  the  fact  that 
her  intelligence  laughed  at  and  scorned  her  perverted  instincts 
was  of  as  little  help  to  her  as  it  is  to  most  of  us. 

When  Madelene  was  free  she  said  to  her  sister-in-la\v,  in 
mock  seriousness,  "Well,  and  what  can  I  do  for  yow?  "  as  if 
she  were  another  patient. 

283 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Adelaide's  eyes  shifted.  Clearly  Madelene's  keen,  pretense- 
scattering  gaze  was  not  one  to  invite  to  inspect  a  matter  which 
might  not  look  at  all  well  stripped  of  its  envelopes  of  phrase 
and  haze.  She  wished  she  had  not  come;  indeed,  she  had 
been  half-wishing  it  during  the  whole  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  of  watching  and  thinking  on  Madelene's  wonderful  life, 
so  crowded  with  interest,  with  achievement,  with  all  that 
Hiram  Ranger's  daughter  called,  and  believed,  "  the  real 
thing." 

"  Nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  replied  she  to  Madelene's  ques 
tion.  "  I  just  dropped  in  to  annoy  you  with  my  idle  self — 
or,  maybe,  to  please  you.  You  know  we're  taught  at  church 
that  a  large  part  of  the  joy  of  the  saved  comes  from  watching 
the  misery  of  the  damned." 

But  Madelene  had  the  instinct  of  the  physician  born. 
"  She  has  something  on  her  mind  and  wants  me  to  help  her," 
she  thought.  Aloud  she  said :  "  I  feel  idle,  myself.  We'll  sit 
about  for  an  hour,  and  you'll  stay  to  dinner  with  Arthur  and 
me — we  have  it  here  to-day,  as  your  mother  is  going  out. 
Afterwards  I  must  do  my  round." 

A  silence,  with  Adelaide  wondering  where  Ross  was  and 
just  when  he  would  return.  Then  Madelene  went  on:  "  I've 
been  trying  to  persuade  your  mother  to  give  up  the  house, 
change  it  into  a  hospital." 

The  impudence  of  it!  Their  house,  their  home;  and  this 
newcomer  into  the  family — a  newcomer  from  nowhere — try 
ing  to  get  it  away  from  them !  "  Mother  said  something 
about  it,"  said  Adelaide  frostily.  "  But  she  didn't  say  you 
had  been  at  her.  I  think  she  ought  to  be  left  alone  in  her 
old  age." 

"  The  main  thing  is  to  keep  her  interested  in  life,  don't 
you  think?"  suggested  Madelene,  noting  how  Adelaide  was 
holding  herself  in  check,  but  disregarding  it.  "  Your  mother's 
a  plain,  natural  person  and  never  has  felt  at  home  in  that  big 
house.  Indeed,  I  don't  think  any  human  being  ever  does  feel 
at  home  in  a  big  house.  There  was  a  time  when  they  fitted 
in  with  the  order  of  things;  but  now  they've  become  silly,  it 

284 


DR.    MADELENE    PRESCRIBES 

seems  to  me,  except  for  public  purposes.  When  we  all  get 
sensible  and  go  in  for  being  somebody  instead  of  for  show 
ing  off,  we'll  live  in  convenient,  comfortable,  really  tasteful 
and  individual  houses  and  have  big  buildings  only  for  gen 
eral  use." 

"  I'm  afraid  the  world  will  never  grow  up  into  your  ideals, 
Madelene,"  said  Del  with  restrained  irony.  "  At  least  not  in 
our  day." 

"  I'm  in  no  hurry,"  replied  Madelene  good-naturedly. 
"  The  most  satisfactory  thing  about  common  sense  is  that  one 
can  act  on  it  without  waiting  for  others  to  get  round  to  it. 
But  we  weren't  talking  of  those  who  would  rather  be  igno- 
rantly  envied  than  intelligently  happy.  We  were  talking  of 
your  mother." 

"  Mother  was  content  with  her  mode  of  life  until  you  put 
these  '  advanced  '  ideas  into  her  head." 

"  '  Advanced  *  is  hardly  the  word,"  said  Madelene.  "  They 
used  to  be  her  ideas — always  have  been,  underneath.  If  it 
weren't  that  she  is  afraid  of  hurting  your  feelings,  she'd  not 
hesitate  an  instant.  She'd  take  the  small  house  across  the  way 
and  give  herself  the  happiness  of  helping  with  the  hospital  she'd 
install  in  the  big  house.  You  know  she  always  had  a  passion 
for  waiting  on  people.  Here's  her  chance  to  gratify  it  to  good 
purpose.  Why  should  she  let  the  fact  that  she  has  money 
enough  not  to  have  to  work  stand  between  her  and  happy 
usefulness?  " 

"  What  does  Arthur  think?"  asked  Del.  Her  resentment 
was  subsiding  in  spite  of  her  determined  efforts  to  keep  it 
glowing;  Madelene  knew  the  secret  of  manner  that  enables 
one  to  be  habitually  right  without  giving  others  the  sense  of 
being  put  irritatingly  in  the  wrong.  "  But,"  smiling,  "  I 
needn't  inquire.  Of  course  he  assents  to  whatever  you  say." 

"  You  know  Arthur  better  than  that,"  replied  Madelene, 
with  no  trace  of  resentment.  She  had  realized  from  the  be 
ginning  of  the  conversation  that  Del's  nerves  were  on  edge ; 
her  color,  alternately  rising  and  fading,  and  her  eyes,  now 
sparkling  now  dull,  could  only  mean  fever  from  a  tempest  of 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

secret  emotion.  "  He  and  I  usually  agree  simply  because  we 
see  things  in  about  the  same  light." 

"You  furnish  the  light,"  teased  Adelaide. 

"  That  was  in  part  so  at  first,"  admitted  her  sister-in-law. 
"  Arthur  had  got  many  foolish  notions  in  his  head  through 
accepting  thoughtlessly  the  ideas  of  the  people  he  traveled  with. 
But,  once  he  let  his  good  sense  get  the  upper  hand —  He  helps 
me  now  far  more  than  I  help  him." 

"Has  he  consented  to  let  them  give  him  a  salary  yet?" 
asked  Adelaide,  not  because  she  was  interested,  but  because  she 
desperately  felt  that  the  conversation  must  be  kept  alive.  Per 
haps  Ross  was  even  now  on  his  way  to  Saint  X. 

"  He  still  gets  what  he  fixed  on  at  first — ten  dollars  a 
week  more  than  the  foreman." 

"  Honestly,  Madelene,"  said  Adelaide,  in  a  flush  and  flash 
of  irritation,  "don't  you  think  that's  absurd?  With  the  re 
sponsibility  of  the  whole  business  on  his  shoulders,  you  know 
he  ought  to  have  more  than  a  common  workman." 

"  In  the  first  place  you  must  not  forget  that  everyone  is 
paid  very  high  wages  at  the  university  works  now." 

"  And  he's  the  cause  of  that — of  the  mills  doing  so  well," 
said  Del.  She  could  see  Ross  entering  the  gates — at  the  house — 
inquiring —  What  was  she  talking  to  Madelene  about  ?  Yes, 
about  Arthur  and  the  mills.  "  Even  the  men  that  criticise 
him — Arthur,  I  mean — most  severely  for  '  sowing  discontent 
in  the  working  class,'  as  they  call  it,"  she  went  on,  "  concede 
that  he  has  wonderful  business  ability.  So  he  ought  to  have 
a  huge  salary." 

"  No  doubt  he  earns  it,"  replied  Madelene.  "  But  the 
difficulty  is  that  he  can't  take  it  without  it's  coming  from  the 
other  workmen.  You  see,  money  is  coined  sweat.  All  its 
value  comes  from  somebody's  labor.  He  deserves  to  be  re 
warded  for  happening  to  have  a  better  brain  than  most  men, 
and  for  using  it  better.  But  there's  no  fund  for  rewarding  the 
clever  for  being  cleverer  than  most  of  their  fellow-beings,  any 
more  than  there's  a  fund  to  reward  the  handsome  for  being 
above  the  average  in  looks.  So  he  has  to  choose  between  rob- 

286 


DR.    MADELENE    PRESCRIBES 

bing  his  fellow-workmen,  who  are  in  his  power,  and  going 
without  riches.  He  prefers  going  without." 

"  That's  very  noble  of  you  both,  I'm  sure,"  said  Adelaide 
absently.  The  Chicago  express  would  be  getting  in  at  four 
o'clock — about  five  hours.  Absurd !  The  morning  papers 
said  Mr.  Whitney  had  had  a  relapse.  "  Very  noble,"  she 
repeated  absently.  "  But  I  doubt  if  anybody  will  appre 
ciate  it." 

Madelene  smiled  cheerfully.  "  That  doesn't  worry  Arthur 
or  me,"  said  she,  with  her  unaffected  simplicity.  "  We're  not 
looking  for  appreciation.  We're  looking  for  a  good  time." 
Del,  startled,  began  to  listen  to  Madelene.  A  good  time — 
"  And  it  so  happens,"  came  in  Madelene's  sweet,  honest  voice, 
"  that  we're  unable  to  have  it,  unless  we  feel  that  we  aren't 
getting  it  by  making  some  one  else  have  a  not-so-good  time  or 
a  very  bad  time  indeed.  You've  heard  of  Arthur's  latest 
scheme?" 

"  Some  one  told  me  he  was  playing  smash  at  the  mills,  en 
couraging  the  workmen  to  idleness  and  all  that  sort  of  thing," 
said  Del.  Somehow  she  felt  less  feverish,  seemed  compelled 
to  attention  by  Madelene's  voice  and  eyes.  "  But  I  didn't 
hear  or  understand  just  howT." 

"  He's  going  to  establish  a  seven-hours'  working  day;  and,  if 
possible,  cut  it  down  to  six."  Madelene's  eyes  were  sparkling. 
Del  watched  her  longingly,  enviously.  How  interested  she 
was  in  these  useful  things.  How  fine  it  must  be  to  be  inter 
ested  where  one  could  give  one's  whole  heart  without  conceal 
ment — or  shame!  "And,"  Madelene  was  saying,  "the  uni 
versity  is  to  change  its  schedules  so  that  all  its  practical  courses 
will  be  at  hours  when  men  working  in  the  factory  can  take 
them.  It's  simply  another  development  of  his  and  Dory's  idea 
that  a  factory  belonging  to  a  university  ought  to  set  a  decent 
example — ought  not  to  compel  its  men  to  work  longer  than 
is  necessary  for  them  to  earn  at  honest  wrages  a  good  living  for 
themselves  and  their  families." 

"  So  that  they  can  sit  round  the  saloons  longer,"  suggested 
Adelaide,  and  then  she  colored  and  dropped  her  eyes;  she  was 

287 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

repeating  Ross's  comment  on  this  sort  of  "  concession  to  the 
working  classes."  She  had  thought  it  particularly  acute  when 
he  made  it.  Now 

"  No  doubt  most  of  them  will  spend  their  time  foolishly  at 
first,"  Madelene  conceded.  "  Working  people  have  had  to 
work  so  hard  for  others — twelve,  fourteen,  sixteen  hours  a  day, 
just  to  be  allowed  to  live — that  they've  had  really  no  free  time 
at  all;  so  they've  had  no  chance  to  learn  how  to  spend  free 
time  sensibly.  But  they'll  learn,  those  of  them  that  have 
capacity  for  improvement.  Those  that  haven't  will  soon  drop 
out." 

"  The  factories  can't  make  money  on  such  a  plan  as  that," 
said  Adelaide,  again  repeating  a  remark  of  Ross's,  but  delib 
erately,  because  she  believed  it  could  be  answered,  wished  to 
hear  it  answered. 

"No,  not  dividends,"  replied  Madelene.  "But  dividends 
are  to  be  abolished  in  that  department  of  the  university,  just 
as  they  are  in  the  other  departments.  And  the  money  the 
university  needs  is  to  come  from  tuition  fees.  Everyone  is  to 
pay  for  what  he  gets.  Some  one  has  to  pay  for  it;  why  not 
the  person  who  gets  the  benefit?  Especially  when  the  univer 
sity's  farms  and  workshops  and  factories  give  every  student, 
man  and  woman,  a  chance  to  earn  a  good  living.  I  tell  you 
Adelaide,  the  time  is  coming  when  every  kind  of  school  except 
kindergarten  will  be  self-supporting.  And  then  you'll  see  a 
human  race  that  is  really  fine,  really  capable,  has  a  real  stand 
ard  of  self-respect.*' 

As  Madelene  talked,  her  face  lighted  up  and  all  her  latent 
magnetism  was  radiating.     Adelaide,   for  no  reason  that  was 
clear  to  her,  yielded  to  a  surge  of  impulse  and,  half-laughing, 
half  in  tears,  suddenly  kissed  Madelene.     "  No  wonder  Arthur' 
is  mad  about  you,  stark  mad,"  she  cried. 

Madelene  was  for  a  moment  surprised  out  of  that  perfect 
self-unconsciousness  which  is  probably  the  rarest  of  human 
qualities,  and  which  was  her  greatest  charm  to  those  who 
knew  her  well.  She  blushed  furiously  and  angrily.  Her  and 
Arthur's  love  was  to  her  most  sacrfed,  absolutely  between  them- 

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DR.    MADELENE    PRESCRIBES 

selves.  When  any  outsider  could  observe  them,  even  her  sis 
ter  Walpurga,  she  seemed  so  much  the  comrade  and  fellow- 
worker  in  her  attitude  toward  him  that  people  thought  and 
spoke  of  their  married  life  as  "  charming,  but  cold."  Alone 
with  him,  she  showed  that  which  \vas  for  him  alone — a  passion 
whose  strength  had  made  him  strong,  as  the  great  waves  give 
their  might  to  the  swimmer  who  does  not  shrink  from  adventur 
ing  them.  Adelaide's  impulsive  remark  had  violated  her  pro- 
foundest  modesty;  and  in  the  shock  she  showed  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon!  "  exclaimed  Adelaide,  though  she  did 
not  realize  wherein  she  had  offended.  Love  was  an  unex 
plored,  an  unsuspected  mystery  to  her  then — the  more  a  mys 
tery  because  she  thought  she  knew  from  having  read  about 
it  and  discussed  it  and  reasoned  about  it. 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  said  Madelene,  contrite  for  her  be 
traying  expression.  "  Only — some  day — when  you  really  fall 
in  love — you'll  know  why  I  was  startled." 

Adelaide  shrank  within  herself.  "  Even  Madelene,"  thought 
she,  "  who  has  not  a  glance  for  other  people's  affairs,  knows 
how  it  is  between  Dory  and  me." 

It  was  Madelene's  turn  to  be  repentant  and  apologetic.  "  I 
didn't  mean  quite  that,"  she  stammered.  "  Of  course  I  know 
you  care  for  Dory " 

The  tears  came  to  Del's  eyes  and  the  high  color  to  her 
cheeks.  "  You  needn't  make  excuses,"  she  cried.  "  It's  the 
truth.  I  don't  care — in  that  way." 

A  silence;  then  Madelene,  gently:  "Was  this  what  you 
came  to  tell  me  ?  " 

Adelaide  nodded  slowly.     "  Yes,  though  I  didn't  know  it." 

"Why  tell  met" 

"  Because  I  think  I  care  for  another  man."  Adelaide  was 
not  looking  away.  On  the  contrary,  as  she  spoke,  saying  the 
words  in  an  even,  reflective  tone,  she  returned  her  sister-in-law's 
gaze  fully,  frankly.  "  And  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  It's 
very  complicated — doubly  complicated." 

"  The  one  you  were  first  engaged  to?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Del.  "Isn't  it  pitiful  in  me?"  And  there 

289 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

was  real  self -con  tempt  in  her  voice  and  in  her  expression.  "  I 
assumed  that  I  despised  him  because  he  was  selfish  and  calcu 
lating,  and  such  a  snob!  Now  I  find  I  don't  mind  his  selfish 
ness,  and  that  I,  too,  am  a  snob."  She  smiled  drearily.  "  I 
suppose  you  feel  the  proper  degree  of  contempt  and  aversion." 

"  We  are  all  snobs,"  answered  Madelene  tranquilly.  "  It's 
one  of  the  deepest  dyes  of  the  dirt  we  came  from,  the  hardest 
to  wash  out." 

"  Besides,"  pursued  Adelaide,  "  he  and  I  have  both  learned 
by  experience — which  has  come  too  late;  it  always  does." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Madelene  briskly.  "  Experience  is 
never  too  late.  It's  always  invaluably  useful  in  some  way,  no 
matter  when  it  comes." 

Adelaide  was  annoyed  by  Madelene's  lack  of  emotion.  She 
had  thought  her  sister-in-law  would  be  stirred  by  a  recital  so 
romantic,  so  dark  with  the  menace  of  tragedy.  Instead,  the 
doctor  was  acting  as  if  she  were  dealing  with  mere  measles. 
Adelaide,  unconsciously,  of  course — we  are  never  conscious  of 
the  strong  admixture  of  vanity  in  our  "  great "  emotions — was 
piqued  into  explaining.  "  We  can  never  be  anything  to  each 
other.  There's  Dory;  then  there's  Theresa.  And  I'd  suffer 
anything  rather  than  bring  shame  and  pain  on  others." 

Madelene  smiled — somehow  not  irritatingly — an  appeal  to 
Del's  sense  of  proportion.  "  Suffer,"  repeated  she.  "  That's  a 
good  strong  word  for  a  woman  to  use  who  has  health  and  youth 
and  beauty,  and  material  comfort — and  a  mind  capable  of  an 
infinite  variety  of  interests."  Adelaide's  tragic  look  was  slip 
ping  from  her.  "  Don't  take  too  gloomy  a  view,"  continued 
the  physician.  "  Disease  and  death  and  one  other  thing  are 
the  only  really  serious  ills.  In  this  case  of  yours  everything 
will  come  round  quite  smooth,  if  you  don't  get  hysterical  and 
if  Ross  Whitney  is  really  in  earnest  and  not " — Madelene's 
tone  grew  even  more  deliberate — "  not  merely  getting  up  a 
theatrical  romance  along  the  lines  of  the  '  high-life '  novels  you 
idle  people  set  such  store  by."  She  saw,  in  Del's  wincing,  that 
the  shot  had  landed.  "  No,"  she  went  on,  "  your  case  is  one 
of  the  commonplaces  of  life  among  those  people — and  they're 

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DR.    MADELENE    PRESCRIBES 

in  all  classes — who  look  for  emotions  and  not  for  opportunities 
to  be  useful." 

Del  smiled,  and  Madelene  hailed  the  returning  sense  of 
humor  as  an  encouraging  sign. 

"  The  one  difficult  factor  is  Theresa,"  said  Madelene,  push 
ing  on  with  the  prescription.  "  She — I  judge  from  what  I've 
heard — she's  what's  commonly  called  a  *  poor  excuse  for  a 
woman.'  We  all  know  that  type.  You  may  be  sure  her 
vanity  would  soon  find  ways  of  consoling  her.  Ninety-nine 
times  out  of  a  hundred  where  one  holds  on  after  the  other  has 
let  go  the  reason  is  vanity,  wounded  vanity — where  it  isn't  the 
material  consideration  that  explains  why  there  are  so  many 
abandoned  wives  and  so  few  abandoned  husbands.  Theresa 
doesn't  really  care  for  her  husband ;  love  that  isn't  mutual  isn't 
love.  So  she'd  come  up  smiling  for  a  second  husband." 

"  She's  certainly  vain,"  said  Del.  "  Losing  him  would  all 
but  kill  her." 

"  Not  if  it's  done  tactfully,"  replied  Madelene.  "  Ross'll 
no  doubt  be  glad  to  sacrifice  his  own  vanity  and  so  arrange 
matters  that  she'll  be  able  to  say  and  feel  that  she  got  rid  of 
him,  not  he  of  her.  Of  course  that  means  a  large  sacrifice  of 
his  vanity — and  of  yours,  too.  But  neither  of  you  will  mind 
that." 

Adelaide  looked  uncomfortable ;  Madelene  took  advantage 
of  her  abstraction  to  smile  at  the  confession  hinted  in  that  look. 

11  As  for  Dory " 

At  that  name  Del  colored  and  hung  her  head. 

"  As  for  Dory,"  repeated  Madelene,  not  losing  the  chance 
to  emphasize  the  effect,  "  he's  no  doubt  fond  of  you.  But  no 
matter  what  he — or  you — may  imagine,  his  fondness  cannot  be 
deeper  than  that  of  a  man  for  a  woman  between  whom  and 
him  there  isn't  the  perfect  love  that  makes  one  of  two." 

"  I  don't  understand  his  caring  for  me,"  cried  Del.  "  I 
can't  believe  he  does."  This  in  the  hope  of  being  contradicted. 

But  Madelene  simply  said :  "  Perhaps  he'd  not  feel  toward 
you  as  he  seems  to  think  he  does  if  he  hadn't  known  you  be 
fore  you  went  East  and  got  fond  of  the  sort  of  thing  that 

291 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

attracts  you  in  Ross  Whitney.  Anyhow,  Dory's  the  kind  of 
man  to  be  less  unhappy  over  losing  you  than  over  keeping  you 
when  you  didn't  want  to  stay.  You  may  be  like  his  eyes  to 
him,  but  you  know  if  that  sort  of  man  loses  his  sight  he  puts 
seeing  out  of  the  calculation  and  goes  on  just  the  same.  Dory 
liargrave  is  a  man ;  and  a  real  man  is  bigger  than  any  love 
affair,  however  big." 

Del  was  trying  to  hide  the  deep  and  smarting  wound  to 
her  vanity.  "  You  are  right,  Madelene,"  said  she.  "  Dory  is 
cold." 

"  But  I  didn't  say  that,"  replied  Madelene.  "  Most  of 
us  prefer  people  like  those  flabby  sea  creatures  that  are  tossed 
aimlessly  about  by  the  waves  and  have  no  permanent  shape  or 
real  purposes  and  desires,  but  take  whatever  their  feeble  tenta 
cles  can  hold  without  effort."  Del  winced,  and  it  was  the 
highest  tribute  to  Dr.  Madelene's  skill  that  the  patient  did  not 
hate  her  and  refuse  further  surgery.  "  We're  used  to  that 
sort,"  continued  she.  "  So  when  a  really  alive,  vigorous,  push 
ing,  and  resisting  personality  comes  in  contact  with  us,  we  say, 
'  How  hard !  How  unfeeling ! '  The  truth,  of  course,  is  that 
Ross  is  more  like  the  flabby  things — his  environment  dominates 
him,  while  Dory  dominates  his  environment.  But  you  like  the 
Ross  sort,  and  you're  right  to  suit  yourself.  To  suit  yourself 
is  the  only  way  to  avoid  making  a  complete  failure  of  life. 
Wait  till  Dory  comes  home.  Then  talk  it  out  with  him. 
Then — free  yourself  and  marry  Ross,  who  will  have  freed  him 
self.  It's  quite  simple.  People  are  broad-minded  about  divorce 
nowadays.  It  never  causes  serious  scandal,  except  among  those 
who'd  like  to  do  the  same,  but  don't  dare." 

It  certainly  was  easy,  and  ought  to  have  been  attractive. 
Yet  Del  was  not  attracted.  "  One  can't  deal  with  love  in 
such  a  cold,  calculating  fashion,"  thought  she,  by  way  of 
bolstering  up  her  weakening  confidence  in  the  reality  and  depth 
of  those  sensations  which  had  seemed  so  thrillingly  romantic  an 
hour  before.  "  I've  given  you  the  impression  that  Ross  and  I 
have  some — some  understanding,"  said  she.  "  But  we  haven't. 
For  all  I  know,  he  may  not  care  for  me  as  I  care  for  him." 

292 


DR.    MADELENE    PRESCRIBES 

"  He  probably  doesn't,"  was  Madelene's  douchelike  reply. 
"  You  attract  him  physically — which  includes  his  feeling  that 
you'd  show  off  better  than  Theresa  before  the  world  for  w^hich 
he  cares  so  much.  But,  after  all,  that's  much  the  way  you 
care  for  him,  isn't  it?" 

Adelaide's  bosom  was  swelling  and  falling  agitatedly.  Her 
eyes  flashed;  her  reserve  vanished.  "  I'm  sure  he'd  love  me!  " 
cried  she.  "  He'd  give  me  what  my  whole  soul,  my  whole 
body  cry  out  for.  Madelene,  you  don't  understand !  I  am  so 
starved,  so  out  in  the  cold !  I  want  to  go  in  where  it's  warm 
— and — human !  "  The  truth,  the  deep-down  truth,  was  out 
at  last;  Adelaide  had  wrenched  it  from  herself. 

"And  Dory  will  not  give  you  that?"  said  Madelene,  all 
gentleness  and  sympathy,  and  treading  softly  on  this  dangerous, 
delicate  ground. 

"  He  gives  me  nothing!"  exclaimed  Adelaide  bitterly. 
"He  is  waiting  for  me  to  learn  to  love  him.  He  ought  to 
know  that  a  woman  has  to  be  taught  to  love — at  least  the  sort 
of  woman  I  am.  He  treats  me  as  if  I  were  his  equal,  when  he 
ought  to  see  that  I'm  not ;  that  I'm  like  a  child,  and  have  to  be 
shown  what's  good  for  me,  and  made  to  take  it." 

"  Then,  perhaps,  after  all,"  said  Madelene  slowly,  "  you  do 
care  for  Dory." 

"Of  course  I  care  for  him;  how  could  anyone  help  it? 
But  he  won't  let  me — he  won't  let  me !  "  She  was  on  the 
verge  of  hysteria,  and  her  loss  of  self-control  was  aggravated 
by  the  feeling  that  she  wras  making  a  weak,  silly  exhibition 
of  herself. 

"  If  you  do  care  for  Dory,  and  Dory  cares  for  you,  and 
you  don't  care  for  Ross — "  began  Madelene. 

"  But  I  do  care  for  Ross,  too !  Oh,  I  must  be  bad — bad ! 
Could  a  nice  w7oman  care  for  two  men  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"  I'd  have  said  not,"  was  Madelene's  answer.  "  But  now 
I  see  that  she  could — and  I  see  why." 

"  Dory  means  something  to  me  that  Ross  does  not.  Ross 
means  something  that  Dory  does  not.  I  want  it  all — all  that 
both  of  them  represent.  I  can't  give  up  Dory;  I  can't  give 

293 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

up  Ross.     You  don't  understand,  Madelene,  because  you've  had 
the  good  luck  to  get  it  all  from  Arthur." 

After  a  silence,  Madelene  said :  "  Well,  Del,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

'  That's  sensible!"  approved  Madelene.  "If  Ross  really 
lov«s  you,  then,  whether  he  can  have  you  or  not,  he'll  free  him 
self  from  Theresa.  He  simply  couldn't  go  on  with  her.  And 
if  ydu  really  care  for  him,  then,  when  Dory  comes  home  he'll 
free  you." 

"  That  ought  to  be  so,"  said  Adelaide,  not  seeing  the  full 
meaning  of  Madelene's  last  words.  "  But  it  isn't.  Neither 
Ro?<*  nor  I  is  strong  enough.  We're  just  ordinary  people,  the 
sort"  that  most  everybody  is  and  that  most  everybody  despises 
when  they  see  them  or  read  about  them  as  they  really  are.  No, 
he  and  I  will  each  do  the  conventional  thing.  We'll  go  our 
separate  ways  " — contemptuously — "  the  easiest  ways.  And 
we'll  regard  ourselves  as  martyrs  to  duty — that's  how  they  put 
it  in  the  novels,  isn't  it?  " 

"  At  least,"  said  Madelene,  with  a  calmness  she  was  far 
from  feeling,  "  both  you  and  Ross  have  had  your  lesson  in  the 
consequence  of  doing  things  in  a  hurry." 

"  That's  the  only  way  people  brought  up  as  we've  been  ever 
do  anything.  If  we  don't  act  on  impulse,  we  don't  act  at  all; 
we  drift  on." 

"  Drifting  is  action,  the  most  decisive  kind  of  action." 
Madelene  was  again  thinking  what  would  surely  happen  the 
instant  Dory  found  how  matters  stood ;  but  she  deemed  it  tact 
ful  to  keep  this  thought  to  herself.  Just  then  she  was  called  to 
the  telephone.  When  she  came  back  she  found  Adelaide  re 
stored  to  her  usual  appearance — the  fashionable,  light-hearted, 
beautiful  woman,  mistress  of  herself,  and  seeming  as  secure 
against  emotional  violence  from  within  as  against  discourtesy 
from  without.  But  she  showed  how  deep  was  the  impression 
of  Madelene's  common-sense  analysis  of  her  romance  by  say 
ing  :  "  A  while  ago  you  said  there  were  only  three  serious  ills, 
disease  and  death,  but  you  didn't  name  the  third.  What  is  it?  " 

294 


DR.    MADELENE    PRESCRIBES 

"  Dishonor,"  said  Madelene,  with  a  long,  steady  look  at 
her. 

Adelaide  paled  slightly,  but  met  her  sister-in-law's  level 
gaze.  "  Yes,"  was  all  she  said. 

A  silence;  then  Madelene:  "  Your  problem,  Del,  is  simple; 
is  no  problem  at  all,  so  far  as  Dory  or  Ross's  wife  is  concerned ; 
or  the  whole  outside  world,  for  that  matter.  It's  purely  per 
sonal;  it's  altogether  the  problem  of  bringing  pain  and  shame 
on  yourself.  The  others'll  get  over  it ;  but  can  you  ?  " 

Del  made  no  reply.  A  moment  later  Arthur  came;  after 
dinner  she  left  before  he  did,  and  so  was  not  alone  with  Made 
lene  again.  Reviewing  her  amazing  confessions  to  her  sister- 
in-law,  she  was  both  sorry  and  not  sorry.  Her  mind  was  un 
doubtedly  relieved,  but  at  the  price  of  showing  to  another  her 
naked  soul,  and  that  other  a  woman — true,  an  unusual  woman, 
by  profession  a  confessor,  but  still  a  woman.  Thenceforth 
some  one  other  than  herself  would  know  her  as  she  really  was 
— not  at  all  the  nice,  delicate  lady  with  instincts  as  fine  as 
those  of  the  heroines  of  novels,  who,  even  at  their  most  realistic, 
are  pictured  as  fully  and  grandly  dressed  of  soul  in  the  solitude 
of  bedroom  as  in  crowded  drawing-room.  "  I  don't  care !  " 
concluded  Adelaide.  "If  she,  or  anyone,  thinks  the  wrorse  of 
me  for  being  a  human  being,  it  will  show  either  hypocrisy  or 
ignorance  of  human  nature." 


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CHAPTER  XXV 

MAN   AND  GENTLEMAN 

FEW  evenings  later,  Del,  in  a  less  strained,  less 
despondent  frame  of  mind,  coming  home  from 
supper  at  her  mother's,  found  Estelle  Wilmot  on 
the  front  veranda  talking  with  Lorry  Tague. 
She  had  seen  this  same  sight  perhaps  half-a- 
dozen  times  since  Estelle  and  Arden  had  come 
to  stop  with  her  at  the  Villa  d'Orsay.  On  this  particular  even 
ing  his  manner  toward  Estelle  was  no  different  from  what  it 
had  been  the  other  times ;  yet,  as  Del  approached  them,  she  felt 
the  electric  atmosphere  which  so  often  envelops  two  who  love 
each  other,  and  betrays  their  secret  carefully  guarded  behind 
formal  manner  and  indifferent  look  and  tone.  She  wondered 
that  she  had  been  blind  to  what  was  now  obvious. 

"  Well,  Arthur  has  at  last  compelled  you  to  go  to  work," 
said  she  smilingly  to  the  big  cooper  with  the  waving  tawny  hair 
and  the  keen,  kind  gray  eyes.  Then,  to  show  her  respect  for 
the  secret,  she  said  to  Estelle,  "  Perhaps  he  hasn't  told  you 
that  he  was  made  superintendent  of  the  cooperage  to-day?  " 

Estelle  blushed  a  little,  her  eyes  dancing.  "  He  was  just 
telling  me,"  replied  she. 

"  I  understand  why  you  yielded,"  continued  Adelaide  to 
Lorry.  "  Arthur  has  been  showing  me  the  plans  for  the  new 
factories.  Gardens  all  round,  big  windows,  high  ceilings, 
everything  done  by  electricity,  no  smoke  or  soot,  a  big  swim 
ming  pool  for  winter  or  summer,  a  big  restaurant,  dressing 
rooms — everything!  Who'd  have  believed  that  work  could  be 
carried  on  in  such  surroundings?" 

"  It's  about  time,  isn't  it,"  said  Lorry,  in  his  slow,  musical 

296 


MAN    AND    GENTLEMAN 


voice,  "  that  idleness  was  deprived  of  its  monopoly  of  comforts 
and  luxuries?  " 

"  How  sensible  that  is !  "  said  Del  admiringly.  "  Yet  no 
body  thinks  of  it." 

"  Why,"  Lorry  went  on,  "  the  day'll  come  when  they'll 
look  back  on  the  way  we  work  nowadays,  as  we  do  on  the  time 
when  a  lot  of  men  never  went  out  to  work  except  in  chains 
and  with  keepers  armed  with  lashes.  The  fellows  that  call 
Dory  and  Arthur  crazy  dreamers  don't  realize  what  ignorant 
savages  they  themselves  are." 

"  They  have  no  imagination,"  said   Estelle. 

"  No  imagination,"  echoed  Lorry.  "  That's  the  secret  of 
the  stupidity  and  the  horror  of  change,  and  of  the  notion  that 
the  way  a  thing's  done  to-day  is  the  way  it'll  always  be  done." 

"  I'm  afraid  Arthur  is  going  to  get  himself  into  even  deeper 
trouble  when  these  new  plans  are  announced,"  said  Del. 

Arthur's  revolution  had  already  inflamed  the  other  manu 
facturers  at  Saint  X  against  him.  Huge  incomes  were  neces 
sary  to  the  support  of  their  extravagant  families  and  to  the  in 
crease  of  the  fortunes  they  were  piling  up  "  to  save  their  chil 
dren  from  fear  of  want  " — as  if  that  same  "  fear  of  want  " 
were  not  the  only  kno\vn  spur  to  the  natural  lethargy  of  the 
human  animal !  They  explained  to  their  workmen  that  the  uni 
versity  industries  were  not  business  enterprises  at  all,  and  there 
fore  must  not  be  confused  and  compared  with  enterprises  that 
were  "practical";  but  the  workmen  fixed  tenaciously  upon 
the  central  fact  that  the  university's  men  worked  at  mechanical 
labor  fewer  hours  each  day  by  four  to  seven,  and  even  eight, 
got  higher  wages,  got  more  out  of  life  in  every  way.  Nor  was 
there  any  of  the  restraint  and  degradation  of  the  "  model 
town."  The  workers  could  live  and  act  as  they  pleased;  it 
was  by  the  power  of  an  intelligent  public  opinion  that  Arthur 
was  inducing  his  fellows  and  their  families  to  build  for  them 
selves  attractive  homes,  to  live  in  tasteful  comfort,  to  acquire 
sane  habits  of  eating,  drinking,  and  personal  appearance.  And 
no  one  was  more  amazed  than  himself  at  the  swiftness  with 
which  the  overwhelming  majority  responded  to  the  opportunity. 
20  297 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Small  wonder  that  the  other  manufacturers,  who  at  best  never 
went  beyond  the  crafty,  inexpensive  schemes  of  benevolent 
chanty,  were  roaring  against  the  university  as  a  "  hotbed  of 
anarchy." 

At  Adelaide's  suggestion  of  the  outburst  that  would  follow 
the  new  and  still  more  "  inflammatory "  revolution,  Lorry 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed  easily.  "  Nobody  need 
worry  for  that  brother  of  yours,  Mrs.  Hargrave,"  said  he. 
"  There  may  be  some  factories  for  sale  cheap  before  many  years. 
If  so,  the  university  can  buy  them  in  and  increase  its  usefulness. 
Dory  and  Arthur  are  going  to  have  a  university  that  will  be 
up  to  the  name  before  they  get  through — one  for  all  ages  and 
kinds,  and  both  sexes,  and  for  everybody  all  his  life  long  and 
in  all  his  relations." 

"  It's  a  beautiful  dream,"  said  Del.  She  was  remembering 
how  Dory  used  to  enlarge  upon  it  in  Paris  until  his  eloquence 
made  her  feel  that  she  loved  him  at  the  same  time  that  it  also 
gave  her  a  chilling  sense  of  his  being  far  from  her,  too  big  and 
impersonal  for  so  intimate  and  personal  a  thing  as  the  love 
she  craved.  "  A  beautiful  dream,"  she  repeated  with  a  sigh. 

"  That's  the  joy  of  life,"  said  Estelle,  "  isn't  it?  To  have 
beautiful  dreams,  and  to  help  make  them  come  true." 

"  And  this  one  is  actually  coming  true,"  said  Lorry.  "  Wait 
a  few  years,  only  a  few,  and  you'll  see  the  discoveries  of  science 
make  everything  so  cheap  that  vulgar,  vain  people  will  give 
up  vulgarity  and  vanity  in  despair.  A  good  many  of  the  once 
aristocratic  vulgarities  have  been  cheapened  into  absurdity  al 
ready.  The  rest  will  follow." 

"Only  a  few  years?"  said  Del,  laughing,  yet  more  than 
half-convinced. 

"  Use  your  imagination,  Mrs.  Hargrave,"  replied  Lorry, 
in  his  large,  good-humored  way.  "  Don't  be  afraid  to  be  sen 
sible  just  because  most  people  look  on  common  sense  as  in 
sanity.  A  hundred  things  that  used  to  be  luxuries  for  the  king 
alone  are  now  so  cheap  that  the  day-laborer  has  them — all  in 
less  than  two  lifetimes  of  real  science!  To-morrow  or  next 
day  some  one  will  discover,  say,  the  secret  of  easily  and  cheaply 

298 


MAN    AND    GENTLEMAN 


interchanging  the  so-called  elements.     Bang!  the  whole  struc 
ture  of  swagger  and  envy  will  collapse !  " 

They  all  laughed,  and  Del  went  into  the  house.  "  Estelle — 
no  woman,  no  matter  who — could  hope  to  get  a  better  husband 
than  Lorry,"  she  was  thinking.  "  And,  now  that  he's  superin 
tendent,  there's  no  reason  why  they  shouldn't  marry.  What 
a  fine  thing,  what  an  American  thing,  that  a  man  with  no  chance 
at  all  in  the  start  should  be  able  to  develop  himself  so  that  a 
girl  like  Estelle  could — yes,  and  should — be  proud  of  his  love 
and  proud  to  love  him."  She  recalled  how  Lorry  at  the  high 
school  was  about  the  most  amusing  of  the  boys,  with  the  best 
natural  manner,  and  far  and  away  the  best  dancer;  how  he 
used  to  be  invited  everywhere,  until  excitement  about  fashion 
and  "  family  "  reached  Saint  X;  how  he  was  then  gradually 
dropped  until  he,  realizing  what  .was  the  matter,  haughtily 
"  cut  "  all  his  former  friends  and  associates.  "  We've  certainly 
been  racing  downhill  these  last  few  years.  Where  the  Wilmots 
used  to  be  about  the  only  silly  people  in  town,  there  are  scores 
of  families  now  with  noses  in  the  air  and  eyes  looking  eagerly 
about  for  chances  to  snub.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there's  the 
university,  and  Arthur — and  Dory."  She  dismissed  Lorry  and 
Estelle  and  Saint  X's  fashionable  strivings  and,  in  the  library, 
sat  down  to  compose  a  letter  to  Dory — no  easy  task  in  those 
days,  when  there  were  seething  in  her  mind  and  heart  so  much 
that  she  longed  to  tell  him  but  ought  not,  so  much  that  she 
ought  to  tell  but  could  not. 

Lorn'  had  acted  as  if  he  were  about  to  depart,  while  Ade 
laide  was  there;  he  resumed  his  seat  on  the  steps  at  Estelle's 
feet  as  soon  as  she  disappeared.  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go," 
said  he,  with  a  humorous  glance  up  at  her  face  with  its  regular 
features  and  steadfast  eyes. 

She  ran  her  slim  fingers  through  his  hair,  let  the  tips  of 
them  linger  an  instant  on  his  lips  before  she  took  her  hand  away. 

"  I  couldn't  let  you  go  just  yet,"  said  she  slowly,  absently. 
"  This  is  the  climax  of  the  day.  In  this  great,  silent,  dim 
light  all  my  dreams — all  our  dreams — seem  to  become  realities 
and  to  be  trooping  down  from  the  sky  to  make  us  happy." 

299 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

A  pause,  then  he:  "I  can  see  them  now."  But  soon  he 
moved  to  rise.  "It  frightens  me  to  be  as  happy  as  I  am  this 
evening.  I  must  go,  dear.  We're  getting  bolder  and  bolder. 
First  thing  you  know,  your  brother  will  be  suspecting — and  that 
means  your  mother." 

"  I  don't  seem  to  care  any  more,"  replied  the  girl.  "  Mother 
is  really  in  much  better  health,  and  has  got  pretty  well  pre 
pared  to  expect  almost  anything  from  me.  She  has  become  re 
signed  to  me  as  a  '  working  person.'  Then,  too,  I'm  thor 
oughly  inoculated  with  the  habit  of  doing  as  I  please.  I  guess 
that's  from  being  independent  and  having  my  own  money. 
What  a  good  thing  money  is!  " 

"  So  long  as  it  means  independence,"  suggested  Lorry;  "  but 
not  after  it  means  dependence." 

But  Estelle  was  thinking  of  their  future.  The  delay,  the 
seemingly  endless  delay,  made  her  even  more  impatient  than  it 
made  him,  as  is  always  the  case  where  the  woman  is  really  in 
love.  In  the  man  love  holds  the  impetuosity  of  passion  in  leash; 
in  the  woman  it  rouses  the  deeper,  the  more  enduring  force  of 
the  maternal  instinct — not  merely  the  unconscious  or,  at  most, 
half-conscious  longing  for  the  children  that  are  to  be,  but  the 
desire  to  do  for  the  man — to  look  after  his  health,  his  physical 
comfort,  to  watch  over  and  protect  him;  for,  to  the  woman  in 
love,  the  man  seems  in  those  humble  ways  less  strong  than  she — 
a  helpless  creature,  dependent  on  her.  "  It's  going  to  be  much 
harder  to  wait,"  said  she,  "  now  that  you  are  superintendent 
and  I  have  bought  out  Mrs.  Hastings's  share  of  my  business." 

They  both  laughed,  but  Lorry  said :  "  It's  no  joke.  A  little 
too  much  money  has  made  fools  of  as  wise  people  as  we  are — 
many  and  many's  the  time." 

"  Not  as  wise  a  person  as  you  are,  and  as  you'll  always  make 
me  be,  or  seem  to  be,"  replied  Estelle. 

Lorry  pressed  his  big  hand  over  hers  for  an  instant.  "  Now 
that  I've  left  off  real  work,"  said  he,  "I'll  soon  be  able  to  take 
your  hand  without  giving  you  a  rough  reminder  of  the  differ 
ence  between  us." 

He  held  out  his  hands,  palms  upward.  They  were  certainly 

300 


MAN    AND    GENTLEMAN 


not  soft  and  smooth,  but  they  more  than  made  up  in  look  of  use 
and  strength  what  they  lacked  in  smoothness.  She  put  her  small 
hands  one  on  either  side  of  his,  and  they  both  thrilled  with 
the  keen  pleasure  the  touch  of  edge  of  hand  against  edge  of 
hand  gave  them.  In  the  ends  of  her  fingers  were  the  marks  of 
her  needlework.  He  bent  and  kissed  those  slightly  roughened 
finger  ends  passionately.  "  I  love  those  marks!  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  They  make  me  feel  that  wre  belong  to  each  other." 

"  I'd  be  sorry  to  see  your  hands  different,"  said  she,  her 
eyes  shining  upon  his.  "  There  are  many  things  you  don't 
understand  about  me — for  instance,  that  it's  just  those  marks  of 
work  that  make  you  so  dear  to  me.  A  woman  may  begin  by 
liking  a  man  because  he's  her  ideal  in  certain  ways,  but  once 
she  really  cares,  she  loves  whatever  is  part  of  him." 

In  addition  to  the  reasons  she  had  given  for  feeling  "  bolder  " 
about  her  "  plebeian  "  lover,  there  was  another  that  was  the 
strongest  of  all.  A  few  months  before,  a  cousin  of  her  father's 
had  died  in  Boston,  where  he  was  the  preacher  of  a  most  ex 
clusive  and  fashionable  church.  He  had  endeared  himself  to 
his  congregation  by  preaching  one  Easter  Sunday  a  sermon 
called  "  The  Badge  of  Birth."  In  it  he  proceeded  to  show 
from  the  Scriptures  themselves  how  baseless  was  the  common 
theory  that  Jesus  was  of  lowly  origin.  "  The  common  people 
heard  Him  gladly,"  cried  the  Rev.  Eliot  Wilmot,  "  because  they 
instinctively  felt  His  superiority  of  birth,  felt  the  dominance  of 
His  lineage.  In  His  veins  flowed  the  blood  of  the  royal  house 
of  Israel,  the  blood  of  the  first  anointed  kings  of  Almighty  God." 
And  from  this  interesting  premise  the  Reverend  Wilmot 
deduced  the  divine  intent  that  the  "  best  blood  "  should  have 
superior  rights — leadership,  respect,  deference.  So  dear  was  he 
to  his  flock  that  they  made  him  rich  in  this  world's  goods  as 
well  as  in  love  and  honor.  The  Wilmots  of  Saint  X  had  had 
lively  expectations  from  his  estate.  They  thought  that  one 
holding  the  views  eloquently  set  forth  in  "  The  Badge  of  Birth  " 
must  dedicate  his  fortune  to  restoring  the  dignity  and  splendor 
of  the  main  branch  of  the  Wilmot  family.  But,  like  all  their 
dreams,  this  came  to  naught.  His  fortune  went  to  a  theological 

301 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

seminary  to  endow  scholarships  and  fellowships  for  decayed 
gentlemen's  sons;  he  remembered  only  Verbena  Wilmot.  On 
his  one  visit  to  the  crumbling,  weed-choked  seat  of  the  head  of 
the  house,  he  had  seen  Verbena's  wonderful  hands,  so  precious 
and  so  useless  that  had  she  possessed  rings  and  deigned  to  wear 
them  she  would  not  have  permitted  the  ringers  of  the  one  hand 
to  put  them  on  the  fingers  of  the  other.  The  legacy  was  five 
thousand  dollars,  at  four  per  cent.,  an  income  of  two  hundred 
dollars  a  year.  Verbena  invested  the  first  quarterly  installment 
in  a  long-dreamed-of  marble  reproduction  of  her  right  hand 
which,  after  years  of  thinking  daily  about  the  matter,  she  had 
decided  was  a  shade  more  perfect  than  the  left. 

If  one  dim  eye  makes  a  man  king  among  blind  men — to 
translate  to  the  vernacular  Verbena's  elegant  reasoning — an  in 
come,  however  trifling,  if  it  have  no  taint  of  toil,  no  stench  of 
sweat  upon  it,  makes  its  possessor  entitled  to  royal  consideration 
in  a  family  of  paupers  and  dead  beats,  degraded  by  harboring  a 
breadwinner  of  an  Estelle.  No  sudden  recipient  of  a  dazzling, 
drenching  shower  of  wealth  was  ever  more  exalted  than  was 
Verbena,  once  in  possession  of  "  my  legacy."  Until  the  Rev. 
Eliot  Wilmot's  posthumous  blessing  descended  upon  her,  the 
Wilmots  lived  together  in  comparative  peace  and  loving  kind 
ness.  They  were  all,  except  for  their  mania  of  genealogy,  good- 
humored,  extremely  well-mannered  people,  courteous  as  much  by 
nature  as  by  deliberate  intent.  But,  with  the  coming  of  the 
blessing,  peace  and  friendliness  in  that  family  were  at  an  end. 
Old  Preston  Wilmot  and  Arden  railed  unceasingly  against  the 
"traitor"  Eliot;  Verbena  defended  him.  Their  mother  and 
Estelle  were  drawn  into  the  battle  from  time  to  time,  Estelle 
always  against  her  will.  Before  Verbena  had  been  a  woman 
of  property  three  months,  she  was  hating  her  father  and  brother 
for  their  sneers  and  insults,  Arden  had  gone  back  to  drinking, 
and  the  old  gentleman  was  in  a  savage  and  most  ungentlemanly 
humor  from  morning  until  night. 

Estelle,  the  "  black  sheep  "  ever  since  she  began  to  support 
them  by  engaging  in  trade,  drew  aloof  now,  was  at  home  as 
little  as  she  could  contrive,  often  ate  a  cold  supper  in  the  back 

302 


MAN    AND    GENTLEMAN 


of  her  shop.  She  said  nothing  to  Lorry  of  the  family  shame; 
she  simply  drew  nearer  to  him.  And  out  of  this  changed  situa 
tion  came,  unconsciously  to  herself,  a  deep  contempt  for  her 
father  and  her  brother,  a  sense  that  she  was  indeed  as  alien  as  the 
Wilmots  so  often  alleged,  in  scorn  of  her  and  her  shop;  Ver 
bena's  income  went  to  buy  adornments  for  herself,  dresses  that 
would  give  the  hands  a  fitting  background;  Estelle's  earnings 
went  to  her  mother,  who  distributed  them,  the  old  gentleman 
and  Arden  ignoring  whence  and  how  the  money  came. 

As  Estelle  and  Lorry  lingered  on  the  porch  of  the  Villa 
d'Orsay  that  August  evening,  alone  in  the  universe  under  that 
vast,  faintly  luminous,  late-twilight  sky,  Arden  Wilmot  came 
up  the  lawn.  Neither  Lorry  nor  Estelle  saw  or  heard  him  until 
his  voice,  rough  with  drink  and  passion,  savagely  stung  them 
with,  "  What  the  hell  does  this  mean  ?  " 

Lorry  dropped  Estelle's  hand  and  stood  up,  Estelle  behind 
him,  a  restraining  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Both  were  white  to 
the  lips;  their  sky,  the  moment  before  so  clear  and  still,  was 
now  black  and  thunderous  with  a  frightful  storm.  Estelle  saw 
that  her  brother  was  far  from  sober;  and  the  sight  of  his  sister 
caressed  by  Lorry  Tague  would  have  maddened  him  even  had 
he  not  touched  liquor.  She  darted  between  the  two  men. 
"  Don't  be  a  goose,  Arden,"  she  panted,  with  a  hysterical  at 
tempt  to  laugh. 

"  That  fellow  was  touching  you !  "  stormed  Arden.  "  You 
miserable  disgrace!"  And  he  lifted  his  hand  threateningly 
to  her. 

Lorry  put  his  arm  round  her  and  drew  her  back,  himself  ad 
vancing.  "  You  must  be  careful  how  you  act  toward  the 
woman  who  is  to  be  my  wife,  Mr.  Wilmot,"  he  said,  afire  in 
all  his  blood  of  the  man  who  has  the  right  to  demand  of  the 
whole  world  the  justice  he  gives  it. 

Arden  Wilmot  stared  dumfounded,  first  at  Lorry,  then  at 
Estelle.  In  the  pause,  Adelaide,  drawn  from  the  library  by  the 
sound  of  Arden's  fury,  reached  the  front  doorway,  saw  the  three, 
instantly  knew  the  whole  cause  of  this  sudden,  harsh  commotion. 
With  a  twitch  that  was  like  the  shaking  off  of  a  detaining 

303 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

grasp,  with  a  roar  like  a  mortally  wounded  beast's,  Arden  re 
covered  the  use  of  limbs  and  voice.  "  You  infernal  lump  of 
dirt !  "  he  yelled.  Adelaide  saw  his  arm  swing  backward, 
then  forward,  and  up — saw  something  bright  in  his  hand.  A 
flash —  "  O  God,  God !  "  she  moaned.  But  she  could  not 
turn  her  eyes  away  or  close  them. 

Lorry  stood  straight  as  a  young  sycamore  for  an  instant, 
turned  toward  Estelle.  "  Good-by — my  love!  "  he  said  softly, 
and  fell,  face  downward,  with  his  hands  clasping  the  edge  of  her 
dress. 

And  Estelle — 

She  made  no  sound.  Like  a  ghost,  she  knelt  and  took  Lorry's 
head  in  her  lap;  with  one  hand  against  each  of  his  cheeks  she 
turned  his  head.  "  Lorry!  Lorry!  "  she  murmured  in  a  heart 
breaking  voice  that  carried  far  through  the  stillness. 

Arden  put  the  revolver  back  in  his  pocket,  seized  her  by 
the  shoulder.  "  Come  away  from  that!"  he  ordered  roughly, 
and  half-lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

With  a  cry  so  awful  that  Adelaide  swayed  and  almost 
swooned  at  hearing  it,  Estelle  wrenched  herself  free,  flung  her 
self  on  her  lover's  body,  buried  her  fingers  in  his  hair,  covered 
his  dead  face  with  kisses,  bathed  her  lips  in  the  blood  that  welled 
from  his  heart.  Shouts  and  heavy,  quick  tramping  from  many 
directions — the  tempest  of  murder  was  drawing  people  to  its 
center  as  a  cyclone  sucks  in  leaves.  Fright  in  Arden  Wilmot's 
face,  revealed  to  Adelaide  in  the  light  streaming  from  the  big 
drawing-room  windows.  A  group — a  crowd — a  multitude — 
pouring  upon  the  lawns  from  every  direction — swirling  round 
Arden  as  he  stood  over  the  prostrate  intermingled  forms  of  his 
sister  and  her  dead  lover. 

Then  Adelaide,  clinging  to  the  door  frame  to  steady  herself, 
heard  Arden  say  in  a  loud  blustering  voice:  "  I  found  this  fel 
low  insulting  my  sister,  and  I  treated  him  as  a  Wilmot  always 
treats  an  insult."  And  as  the  words  reached  her,  they  fired  her. 
All  her  weakness,  all  tar  sense  of  helplessness  fled. 

Out  of  the  circle  came  a  man  bearing  unconscious  Estelle, 
blood  upon  her  face,  upon  her  bosom,  blood  dripping  from  her 

304 


fc.*. 


MAN    AND    GENTLEMAN 


hands.  "Where  shall  I  take  her?"  asked  the  man  of  Ade 
laide.  "  A  doctor's  been  sent  for." 

"  Into  the  hall — on  the  sofa — at  the  end — and  watch  by 
her,"  said  Del,  in  quick,  jerking  tones.  Her  eyes  were  ablaze, 
her  breath  came  in  gusts.  Without  waiting  to  see  where  he 
went  with  his  burden,  she  rushed  down  the  broad  steps  and 
through  the  crowd,  pushing  them  this  way  and  that.  She  faced 
Arden  Wilmot — not  a  lady,  but  a  woman,  a  flaming  torch  of 
outraged  human  feeling. 

"  You  lie!  "  she  cried,  and  he  seemed  to  wither  before  her. 
"  You  lie  about  him  and  about  her!  You,  with  the  very  clothes 
you're  dressed  in,  the  very  liquor  you're  drunk  \vith,  the  very 
pistol  that  shot  him  down,  paid  for  by  her  earnings !  He  never 
offended  you — not  by  look  or  word.  You  murdered  him — I 
saw — heard.  You  murdered  the  man  she  was  to  marry,  the 
man  she  loved — murdered  him  because  she  loved  him.  Look 
at  him!" 

The  crowd  widened  its  circle  before  the  sweep  of  her  arm. 
Lorry's  blood-stained  body  came  into  view.  His  face,  beautiful 
and,  in  its  pale  calm,  stronger  than  life,  was  open  to  the  paling 
sky.  "  There  lies  a  man,"  she  sobbed,  and  her  tears  were  of 
the  kind  that  make  the  fires  of  passion  burn  the  fiercer.  "  A 
man  any  woman  with  a  woman's  heart  would  have  been  proud 
to  be  loved  by.  And  you — you've  murdered  him!  " 

"  Take  care,  Mrs.  Hargrave,"  a  voice  whispered  in  her  ear. 
"  They'll  lynch  him." 

"And  why  not?"  she  cried  out.  "Why  should  such  a 
creature  live?  " 

A  hundred  men  were  reaching  for  Arden,  and  from  the 
crowd  rose  that  hoarse,  low,  hideous  sound  which  is  the  first 
deep  bay  of  the  unleashed  blood-madness.  "No,  no!"  she 
begged  in  horror,  and  waved  them  back. 

"Adelaide!"  gasped  Arden,  wrenching  himself  free  and 
crouching  at  her  feet  and  clinging  to  her  skirts.  "Save  me! 
I  only  did  my  duty  as  a  gentleman." 

She  looked  down  at  him  in  unpitying  scorn,  then  out  at  the 
crowd.  "  Hear  that!  "  she  cried,  with  a  wild,  terrible  laugh. 

305 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  A  gentleman !  Yes,  that's  true — a  gentleman.  Saving  your 
sifter  from  the  coarse  contamination  of  an  honest  man !  "  Then 
to  the  men  who  were  dragging  at  him :  "  No,  I  say — no  I  Let 
him  alone!  Don't  touch  the  creature!  He'll  only  foul  your 
hands."  And  she  pushed  them  back.  "  Let  him  live.  What 
worse  fate  could  he  have  than  to  be  pointed  at  every  day  of  a 
long  life  as  the  worthless  drunken  thing  who  murdered  a  man, 
and  then  tried  to  save  himself  by  defaming  his  victim  and  his 
own  sister?  " 

Under  cover  of  her  barrier  of  command,  the  constable  led 
Arden  into  the  house,  past  where  his  sister  lay  in  a  swoon,  and 
by  the  back  way  got  him  to  jail.  The  crowd,  fascinated  by  her 
beauty,  which  the  tempest  of  passion  had  transfigured  into  ter 
rible  and  compelling  majesty,  was  completely  under  her  con 
trol.  She  stayed  on,  facing  that  throng  of  men,  many  of  whom 
she  knew  by  name,  until  Lorry's  body  was  taken  away.  She 
was  about  to  go  into  the  house,  as  the  crowd  began  quietly  to 
disperse,  wThen  there  arose  a  murmur  that  made  her  turn 
quickly  toward  the  doors.  There  was  Estelle,  all  disheveled 
and  bloodstained.  Her  face  was  like  death;  her  movements 
were  like  one  walking  in  a  deep  sleep  as  she  descended  to  the 
lawn  and  came  toward  them. 

"Where  is  he?  Where  is  he?"  she  wailed,  pushing  this 
way  and  that  through  the  crowd,  her  hands  outstretched,  her 
long  fair  hair  streaming  like  a  bridal  veil.  Her  feet  slipped 
on  the  wet  grass — where  it  was  wet  with  his  blood.  She 
staggered,  swayed  uncertainly,  fell  with  her  arms  outstretched 
as  if  the  earth  were  he  she  sought.  She  lay  there  moaning — 
the  cry  of  her  tortured  nerves  alone,  for  her  mind  was  un 
conscious. 

Adelaide  and  Madelene,  who  had  just  come,  bent  to  lift 
her.  But  their  strength  failed  them  and  they  sank  to  their 
knees  in  terror;  for,  from  the  silent  crowd  there  burst  a  shriek: 
"  Kill  him,  kill  him !  "  And  all  in  an  instant  the  grounds 
were  emptied  of  those  thousands;  and  to  the  two  women  came 
an  eyer  fainter  but  not  less  awful  roar  as  the  mob  swept  on  up 
town  toward  the  jail. 

306 


MAN    AND    GENTLEMAN 


Madelene  was  first  to  recover.  "  Let  us  carry  her  in,"  she 
said.  And  when  the  limp  form  was  once  more  on  the  big  sofa 
and  the  eyelids  were  trembling  to  unclose,  she  ripped  open  the 
right  sleeve  and  thrust  in  the  needle  that  gives  oblivion. 

Adelaide  went  to  the  window  and  listened.  Before  her  in 
the  moonlight  was  the  place  where  that  tempest  of  hate  and 
murder  had  burst  and  raged.  Once  more  her  heart  hardened 
in  the  pitiless  fury  of  outraged  mercy.  A  moan  from  Estelle 
stung  her,  and  she  leaned  forward  the  better  to  catch  the  music 
of  the  mob's  distant  shriek.  Silence  for  full  five  minutes;  then 
a  sound  like  that  which  bursts  from  the  throats  of  the  blood 
hounds  as  they  bury  their  fangs  in  their  quarry.  She  gave  a 
faint  scream,  covered  her  face.  "  Oh,  spare  him!  Spare  him!  " 
she  cried.  And  she  sank  to  the  floor  in  a  faint,  for  she  knew 
that  Arden  Wilmot  was  dead. 

Adelaide  took  Estelle's  store  until  Estelle  came  back  to  it, 
her  surface  calm  like  the  smooth  river  that  hides  in  its  tortured 
bosom  the  deep-plunged  rapids  below  the  falls.  The  day  after 
Estelle's  return  Adelaide  began  to  study  architecture  at  the 
university;  soon  she  wras  made  an  instructor,  with  the  dean  de 
lighted  and  not  a  little  mystified  by  her  energy  and  enthusiasm. 
Yet  the  matter  was  simple  and  natural:  she  had  emerged  from 
her  baptism  of  blood  and  fire — a  woman ;  at  last  she  had 
learned  what  in  life  is  not  worth  while;  she  was  ready  to  learn 
what  it  has  to  offer  that  is  worth  while — the  sole  source  of  the 
joys  that  have  no  reaction,  of  the  content  that  is  founded  upon 
the  reck. 


307 


CHAPTER   XXVI 
CHARLES  WHITNEY'S  HEIRS 

IGHT  specialists,  including  Romney,  of  New 
York  and  Saltonstal,  of  Chicago,  had  given 
Charles  Whitney  their  verdicts  on  why  he  was 
weak  and  lethargic.  In  essential  details  these 
diagnoses  differed  as  widely  as  opinions  always 
differ  where  no  one  knows,  or  can  know,  and 
so  everyone  is  free  to  please  his  own  fancy  in  choosing  a  cloak 
for  his  ignorance.  Some  of  the  doctors  declared  kidneys  sound 
but  liver  suspicious ;  others  exonerated  liver  but  condemned  one 
or  both  kidneys;  others  viewed  kidneys  and  liver  with  equal 
pessimism;  still  others  put  those  organs  aside  and  shook  their 
heads  and  unlimbered  their  Latin  at  spleen  and  pancreas.  In 
one  respect,  however,  the  eight  narrowed  to  two  groups.  "  Let's 
figure  it  out  trial-balance  fashion,"  said  Whitney  to  his  pri 
vate  secretary,  Vagen.  "  Five,  including  two- thousand-dollar 
Romney,  say  I  '  may  go  soon.'  Three,  including  our  one-thou 
sand-dollar  neighbor,  Saltonstal,  say  I  am  '  in  no  immediate 
danger.'  But  what  the  Romneys  mean  by  *  soon,'  and  what  the 
Saltonstals  mean  by  '  immediate,'  none  of  the  eight  says." 

"  But  they  all  say  that  '  with  proper  care ' — "  began  Vagen, 
with  the  faith  of  the  little  in  the  pretentious. 

"  So  they  do !  So  they  do !  "  interrupted  Whitney,  whom 
life  had  taught  not  to  measure  wisdom  by  profession  of  it,  nor 
yet  by  repute  for  it.  And  he  went  on  in  a  drowsy  drawl, 
significantly  different  from  his  wonted  rather  explosive  method 
of  speech:  "  But  does  any  of  'em  say  what  'proper  care'  is? 
Each  gives  his  opinion.  Eight  opinions,  each  different  and  each 
cautioning  me  against  the  kind  of  *  care  '  prescribed  by  the  other 

308 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

seven.  And  I  paid  six  thousand  dollars!"  A  cynical  smile 
played  round  his  thin-lipped,  sensual,  selfish  mouth. 

"  Sixty-three  hundred,"  corrected  Vagen.  He  never  missed 
this  sort  of  chance  to  impress  his  master  with  his  passion  for 
accuracy. 

"  Sixty-three,  then.  I'd  better  have  given  you  the  money 
to  blow  in  on  your  fliers  on  wheat  and  pork." 

At  this  Vagen  looked  much  depressed.  It  was  his  first  in 
timation  that  his  chief  knew  about  his  private  life.  "  I  hope, 
sir,  nobody  has  been  poisoning  your  mind  against  me,"  said  he. 
"  I  court  the  fullest  investigation.  I  have  been  honest " 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  Whitney.  "  There  never 
was  a  man  as  timid  as  you  are  that  wasn't  honest.  What  a 
shallow  world  it  is!  How  often  envy  and  cowardice  pass  for 
virtue!  " 

"  I  often  say,  sir,"  replied  Vagen,  with  intent  to  soothe  and 
flatter,  "  there  ain't  one  man  in  ten  million  that  wouldn't  have 
done  the  things  you've  done  if  they'd  had  the  brains  and  the 
nerve." 

"And  pray  what  are  the  'things  I've  done'?"  inquired 
Whitney.  But  the  flame  of  irritation  was  so  feeble  that  it  died 
down  before  his  words  were  out.  "  I'm  going  down  to  Saint  X 
to  see  old  Schulze,"  he  drawled  on.  "  Schulze  knows  more  than 
any  of  'em — and  ain't  afraid  to  say  when  he  don't  know."  A 
slow,  somewhat  sardonic  smile.  "  That's  why  he's  unknown. 
What  can  a  wise  man,  who  insists  on  showing  that  he's  wrise, 
expect  in  a  world  of  damn  fools?"  A  long  silence  during 
which  the  uncomfortable  Vagen  had  the  consolation  of  seeing 
in  that  haggard,  baggy,  pasty-white  face  that  his  master's 
thoughts  were  serving  him  much  worse  than  mere  discomfort. 
Then  Whitney  spoke  again:  "  Yes,  I'm  going  to  Saint  X.  I'm 
going  home  to " 

He  did  not  finish ;  he  could  not  speak  the  word  of  finality. 
Vagen  saw  the  look  in  his  pale,  blue-green  eyes,  saw  that  the 
great  financier  knew  he  would  never  again  fling  his  terrible 
nets  broadcast  for  vast  hauls  of  golden  fish,  knew  his  days  were 
numbered  and  that  the  number  was  small.  But,  instead  of  this 

309 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

making  him  feel  sympathetic  and  equal  toward  his  master,  thus 
unmasked  as  mere  galvanized  clay,  it  filled  him  with  greater 
awe;  for,  to  the  Vagens,  Death  seems  to  wear  a  special  cos 
tume  and  walk  with  grander  step  to  summon  the  rich  and  the 
high. 

"  Yes,  I'll  go — this  very  afternoon,"  said  Whitney  more 
loudly,  turning  his  face  toward  the  door  through  which  came 
a  faint  feminine  rustling — the  froufrou  of  the  finest,  softest  silk 
and  finest,  softest  linen. 

He  looked  attentively  at  his  wife  as  she  crossed  the  thresh 
old — looked  with  eyes  that  saw  mercilessly  but  indifferently, 
the  eyes  of  those  who  are  out  of  the  game  of  life,  out  for  good 
and  all,  and  so  care  nothing  about  it.  He  noted  in  her  figure — 
in  its  solidity,  its  settledness — the  signs  of  age  the  beauty  doctors 
were  still  almost  successful  in  keeping  out  of  that  masklike 
face  which  was  their  creation  rather  than  nature's;  he  noted 
the  rough-looking  red  of  that  hair  whose  thinness  was  not  al 
together  concealed  despite  the  elaborate  care  with  which  it  was 
arranged  to  give  the  impression  of  careless  abundance.  He 
noted  her  hands;  his  eyes  did  not  linger  there,  for  the  hands 
had  the  wrinkles  and  hollows  and  age  marks  which  but  for 
art  would  have  been  in  the  face,  and  they  gave  him  a  feeling — 
he  could  not  have  defined  it,  but  it  made  him  shudder.  His 
eyes  rested  again  upon  her  face,  with  an  expression  of  pity 
that  was  slightly  satirical.  This  struggle  of  hers  seemed  so 
petty  and  silly  to  him  now;  how  could  any  human  being  think 
any  other  fact  important  when  the  Great  Fact  hung  from 
birth  threateningly  over  all? 

"  You  feel  worse  to-day,  dear?  "  said  she,  in  the  tones  that 
sound  carefully  attuned  to  create  an  impression  of  sympathy. 
Hers  had  now  become  the  mechanically  saccharine  voice  which 
sardonic  time  ultimately  fastens  upon  the  professionally  sym 
pathetic  to  make  them  known  and  mocked  of  all,  even  of  the 
vainest  seekers  after  sympathy. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  feel  better,"  he  drawled,  eyes  half- 
shut.  "  No  pain  at  all.  But — horribly  weak,  as  if  I  were  going 
to  faint  in  a  minute  or  two — and  I  don't  give  a  damn  for  any- 

310 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

thing."  There  was  a  personal  fling  in  that  last  word,  an  in 
sinuation  that  he  knew  her  state  of  mind  toward  him,  and 
reciprocated. 

"  Well,  to-morrow  Janet  and  her  baby  will  be  here,"  said 
Mrs.  Whitney,  and  her  soothing  tones  seemed  to  stimulate  him 
by  irritation.  "  Then  we'll  all  go  down  to  Saint  X  together, 
if  you  still  wish  it." 

"  Don't  take  that  tone  with  me,  I  tell  you !  "  he  said  with 
some  energy  in  his  drawl.  "  Dont  talk  to  me  as  if  you  were 
hanging  over  my  deathbed  lying  to  me  about  my  going  to  live !  " 
And  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  his  breath  made  his  parted,  languid 
lips  flutter. 

"  Mr.  Vagen,"  said  Matilda,  in  her  tone  of  sweet  gracious- 
ness,  "  may  I  trouble  you  to  go  and " 

"  Go  to  the  devil,  Vagen,"  said  Charles,  starting  up  again 
that  slow  stream  of  fainting  words  and  sentences.  "  Anywhere 
to  get  you  out  of  the  room  so  you  won't  fill  the  flapping  ears 
of  your  friends  with  gossip  about  Whitney  and  his  wife. 
Though  why  she  should  send  you  out  I  can't  understand.  If 
you  and  the  servants  don't  hear  what's  going  on,  you  make 
up  and  tattle  worse  than  what  really  happens." 

Mrs,  Whitney  gave  Vagen  a  look  of  sweet  resignation  and 
Vagen  responded  with  an  expression  which  said:  "I  under 
stand.  He  is  very  ill.  He  is  not  responsible.  I  admire  your 
ladylike  patience."  As  Whitney's  eyes  were  closed  he  missed 
this  byplay. 

Here,  Vagen — before  you  go,"  he  drawled,  waving  a 
eary  hand  toward  the  table  at  his  elbow.  "  Here's  a  check 
for  ten  thousand.  You  don't  deserve  it,  for  you've  used  your 
position  to  try  to  get  rich  on  the  sly.  But  inasmuch  as  I  was 
1  on  to '  you,  and  dropped  hints  that  made  you  lose,  I've  no  hard 
feelings.  Then,  too,  you  did  no  worse  than  any  other  would 
have  done  in  your  place.  A  man's  as  good,  and  as  bad,  as  he 
has  the  chance  to  be.  So  take  it.  I've  not  made  my  will  yet, 
and  as  I  may  not  be  able  to,  I  give  you  the  money  now.  You'll 
find  the  check  in  this  top  drawer,  and  some  other  checks  for 
the  people  near  me.  I  suppose  they'll  expect  something — I've 


r 

Ifo 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

got  'em  into  the  habit  of  it.  Take  'em  and  run  along  and 
send  'em  off  right  away." 

Vagen  muttered  inarticulate  thanks.  In  fact,  the  check 
was  making  small  impression  on  him,  or  the  revelation  that 
his  chief  had  eyes  as  keen  for  what  was  going  on  under  his 
nose  as  for  the  great  movements  in  the  big  field.  He  could 
think  only  of  that  terrifying  weakness,  that  significant  garru- 
lousness. 

When  Vagen  was  out  of  the  way,  Charles  repeated:  "  I'm 
going  this  afternoon."  His  listless  eyes  were  gazing  vacantly 
at  the  carved  rosewood  ceiling.  His  hands — the  hands  of  a 
corpse — looked  horribly  like  sheathed,  crumpled  claws  in  the 
gold  silk  cuffs  of  his  dark-blue  dressing  gown.  His  nose,  pro 
truding  from  his  sunken  cheeks,  seemed  not  like  a  huge  beak, 
but  indeed  a  beak. 

"  But  Janet — "  began  Mrs.  Whitney,  thinking  as  she  spoke 
that  he  surely  would  "  not  be  spared  to  us  much  longer." 

"  Janet  can  follow — or  stay  here — or — I  don't  care  what 
she  does,"  droned  Whitney.  "  Do  you  suppose  I'm  thinking 
about  anybody  but  myself  now?  Would  you,  if  you  were  in 
my  fix.  I  should  say,"  he  amended  cynically,  "  will  you,  when 
you're  in  my  fix  ?  " 

"Charles!"  exclaimed  Matilda. 

Whitney's  smile  checked  her.  "  I'm  not  a  fool,"  he  rambled 
on.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  haven't  seen  what  was  going  on?  Do 
you  suppose  I  don't  know  all  of  you  wish  I  was  out  of  it  ?  Yes, 
out  of  it.  And  you  needn't  bother  to  put  on  that  shocked  look ; 
it  doesn't  fool  me.  I  used  to  say:  '  I'll  be  generous  with  my 
family  and  give  'em  more  than  they'd  have  if  I  was  gone.'  *  No 
children  waiting  round  eager  for  me  to  pass  off,'  said  I,  '  so 
that  they  can  divide  up  my  fortune.'  I've  said  that  often  and 
often.  And  I've  acted  on  it.  And  I've  raised  up  two  as  pam 
pered,  selfish  children  as  ever  lived.  And  now —  The  last 
seven  months  I've  been  losing  money  hand  over  fist.  Everything 
I've  gone  into  has  turned  out  bad.  I'm  down  to  about  half 
what  I  had  a  year  ago — maybe  less  than  half.  And  you  and 
Ross — and  no  doubt  that  marchioness  ex-daughter  of  mine — all 

312 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

know  it.  And  you're  afraid  if  I  live  on,  I'll  lose  more,  maybe 
everything.  Do  you  deny  it  ?  " 

Matilda  was  unable  to  speak.  She  had  known  he  was  less 
rich;  but  half! — "maybe  less!"  The  cuirass  of  steel,  whale 
bone,  kid,  and  linen  which  molded  her  body  to  a  fashionable 
figure  seemed  to  be  closing  in  on  her  heart  and  lungs  with 
a  stifling  clutch. 

"  No,  you  don't  deny  it.  You  couldn't,"  Whitney  drawled 
on.  "  And  so  my  *  indulgent  father  '  damned  foolishness  ends 
just  where  I  might  have  known  it'd  end.  We've  brought  up  the 
children  to  love  money  and  show  off,  instead  of  to  love  us  and 
character  and  self-respect —  God  forgive  me !  " 

The  room  was  profoundly  silent:  Charles  thinking  drowsily, 
yet  vividly,  too,  of  his  life;  Matilda  burning  in  anguish  over 
the  lost  half,  or  more,  of  the  fortune — and  Charles  had  always 
been  secretive  about  his  wealth,  so  she  didn't  know  how  much 
the  fortune  was  a  year  ago  and  couldn't  judge  whether  much 
or  little  was  left!  Enough  to  uphold  her  social  position?  Or 
only  enough  to  keep  her  barely  clear  of  the  "middle  class"? 

Soon  Whitney's  voice  broke  in  upon  her  torments.  "  I've 
been  thinking  a  great  deal,  this  last  week,  about  Hiram  Ranger." 

Matilda,  startled,  gave  him  a  wild  look.  "  Charles!  "  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Whitney,  a  gleam  of  enjoyment  in  his  dull 
eyes. 

In  fact,  ever  since  Hiram's  death  his  colossal  figure  had 
often  dominated  the  thoughts  of  Charles  and  Matilda  Whitney. 
The  will  had  set  Charles  to  observing,  to  seeing',  it  had  set 
Matilda  to  speculating  on  the  possibilities  of  her  own  husband's 
stealthy  relentlessness.  At  these  definite,  dreadful  words  of  his, 
her  vague  alarms  burst  into  a  deafening  chorus,  jangling  and 
clanging  in  her  very  ears. 

"  Arthur  Ranger,"  continued  Whitney,  languid  and  absent, 
"  has  got  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  business " 

"  Yes;  look  at  Hiram's  children!  "  urged  Matilda.  "  Every 
body  that  is  anybody  is  down  on  Arthur.  See  wrhat  his  wife 
has  brought  him  to,  with  her  crazy,  upsetting  ideas!  They  tsjl 
21  313 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

me  a  good  many  of  the  best  people  in  Saint  X  hardly  speak  to 
him.  Yes,  Charles,  look  at  Hiram's  doings." 

"  Thanks  to  Hiram — what  he  inherited  from  Hiram  and 
what  Hiram  had  the  good  sense  not  to  let  him  inherit — he  has 
become  a  somebody.  He's  doing  things,  and  the  fact  that  they 
aren't  just  the  kind  of  things  I  like  doesn't  make  me  fool  enough 
to  underestimate  them  or  him.  Success  is  the  test,  and  in  his 
line  he's  a  success." 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  his  wife  he'd  not  have  done  much," 
said  Matilda  sourly. 

"  You've  lived  long  enough,  I'd  think,  to  have  learned  not 
to  say  such  shallow  things,"  drawled  he.  "  Of  course,  he  has 
learned  from  her — don't  everybody  have  to  learn  somewhere? 
Where  a  man  learns  is  nothing;  the  important  thing  is  his 
capacity  to  learn.  If  a  man's  got  the  capacity  to  learn,  he'll 
learn,  he'll  become  somebody.  If  he  hasn't,  then  no  man 
nor  no  woman  can  teach  him.  No,  my  dear,  you  may  be 
sure  that  anybody  who  amounts  to  anything  has  got  it  in 
himself.  And  Arthur  Ranger  is  a  credit  to  any  father.  He's 
becoming  famous — the  papers  are  full  of  what  he's  accom 
plishing.  And  he's  respected,  honest,  able,  with  a  wife  that 
loves  him.  Would  he  have  been  anybody  if  his  father  had 
left  him  the  money  that  would  have  compelled  him  to  be 
a  fool?  As  for  the  girl,  she's  got  a  showy  streak  in  her — she's 
your  regular  American  woman  of  nowadays — the  kind  of 
daughter  your  sort  of  mother  and  my  sort  of  damn-fool  father 
breed  up.  But  Del's  mother  wasn't  like  you,  Mattie,  and  shs 
hadn't  a  fool  father  like  me,  so  she's  married  to  a  young  fel 
low  that's  already  doing  big  things,  in  his  line — and  a  good 
line  his  is,  a  better  line  than  trimming  dollars  and  donkeys. 
Our  Jenny — Jane  that  used  to  be —  We've  sold  her  to  a 
Frenchman,  and  she's  sold  herself  to  the  devil.  Hiram's 
daughter —  God  forgive  us,  Matilda,  for  what  we've  done 
to  Janet."  All  this,  including  that  last  devout  appeal,  in  the 
manner  of  a  spectator  of  a  scene  at  which  he  is  taking  a  last, 
indifferent,  backward  glance  as  he  is  leaving. 

His  wife's  brain  was  too  busy  making  plans  and  tearing 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

them  up  to  follow  his  monotonous  garrulity  except  in  a  gener-al 
way.  He  waited  in  vain  for  her  to  defend  her  daughter  and 
herself. 

"  As  for  Ross,"  he  went  on,  "  he's  keen  and  quick  enough. 
He's  got  together  quite  a  fortune  of  his  own — and  he'll  hold 
on  to  it  and  get  more.  It's  easy  enough  to  make  money  if  you've 
got  money — and  ain't  too  finicky  about  the  look  and  the  smell 
of  the  dollars  before  you  gulp  'em  down.  Your  Ross  has  a 
good  strong  stomach  that  way — as  good  as  his  father's — and 
mother's.  But —  He  ain't  exactly  the  man  I  used  to  picture 
as  I  was  wheeling  him  up  and  down  the  street  in  his  baby 
carriage  in  Saint  X." 

That  vulgar  reminiscence  seemed  to  be  the  signal  for  which 
Matilda  was  waiting.  "  Charles  Whitney,"  she  said,  "  you 
and  I  have  brought  up  our  children  to  take  their  proper  place 
in  our  aristocracy  of  wealth  and  birth  and  breeding.  And  I 
know  you're  not  going  to  undo  what  we've  done,  and  done 
well."  ' 

"  That's  your  '  bossy  '  tone,  Mattie,"  he  drawled,  his  de 
sire  to  talk  getting  a  fresh  excuse  for  indulging  itself.  "  I 
guess  this  is  a  good  time  to  let  you  into  a  secret.  You've  thought 
you  ran  me  ever  since  we  were  engaged.  That  delusion  of 
yours  nearly  lost  you  the  chance  to  lead  these  thirty  years  of 
wedded  bliss  with  me.  If  you  hadn't  happened  to  make  me 
jealous  and  afraid  the  one  man  I  used  to  envy  in  those  days 
would  get  you —  I  laughed  the  other  day  when  he  was  ap 
pointed  postmaster  at  Indianapolis —  However,  I  did  marry 
you,  and  did  let  you  imagine  you  wore  the  pants.  It  seemed 
to  amuse  you,  and  it  certainly  amused  me — though  not  in  the 
same  way.  Now  I  want  you  to  look  back  and  think  hard. 
You  can't  remember  a  single  time  that  what  you  bossed  me  to 
do  was  ever  done.  I  was  always  fond  of  playing  tricks  and 
pulling  secret  wires,  and  I  did  a  lot  of  it  in  making  you  think 
you  were  bossing  me  when  you  were  really  being  bossed." 

It  was  all  Mrs.  Whitney  could  do  to  keep  her  mind  on  how 
sick  he  was,  and  how  imperative  it  was  not  to  get  him  out  of 
humor.  "  I  never  meant  to  try  to  influence  you,  Charles,"  she 

315 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

said,  "  except  as  anyone  tries  to  help  those  about  one.  And 
certainly  you've  been  the  one  that  has  put  us  all  in  our  present 
position.  That's  why  it  distressed  me  for  you  even  to  talk  of 
undoing  your  work." 

Whitney  smiled  satirically,  mysteriously.  "  I'll  do  what 
I  think  best,"  was  all  he  replied.  And  presently  he  added, 
"  though  I  don't  feel  like  doing  anything.  It  seems  to  me  I 
don't  care  what  happens,  or  whether  I  live — or — don't.  I'll 
go  to  Saint  X.  I'm  just  about  strong  enough  to  stand  the  trip 
— and  have  Schulze  come  out  to  Point  Helen  this  evening." 

"Why  not  save  your  strength  and  have  him  come  here?" 
urged  Matilda. 

"  He  wouldn't,"  replied  her  husband.  "  Last  time  I  saw 
him  he  looked  me  over  and  said:  *  Champagne.  If  you  don't 
stop  it  you  won't  live.  Don't  come  here  again  unless  you  cut 
out  that  poison.'  But  I  never  could  resist  champagne.  So  I  told 
myself  he  was  an  old  crank,  and  found  a  great  doctor  I  could 
hire  to  agree  with  me.  No  use  to  send  for  Schulze  to  come 
all  this  distance.  I  might  even  have  to  go  to  his  office  if  I 
was  at  Saint  X.  He  won't  go  to  see  anybody  who's  able  to 
move  about.  '  As  they  want  me,  let  'em  come  to  me,  just 
as  I'd  go  to  them  if  I  wanted  them,'  he  says.  'The  air  they 
get  on  the  way  is  part  of  the  cure.'  Besides,  he  and  I  had  a 
quarrel.  He  was  talking  his  nonsense  against  religion,  and  I 
said  something,  and  he  implied  I  wasn't  as  straight  in  business 
as  I  should  be — quoted  something  about  '  He  that  hasteth  to 
be  rich  shall  not  be  innocent/  and  one  thing  led  to  another, 
and  finally  he  said,  with  that  ugly  jeer  of  his:  *  You  pious  ban 
dits  are  lucky  to  have  a  forgiving  God  to  go  to.  Now  we  poor 
devils  have  only  our  self-respect,  and  it  never  forgives  any 
thing.'  ':  Whitney  laughed,  reflected,  laughed  again.  "  Yes, 
I  must  see  Schulze.  Maybe —  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to  Saint  X 
— going  home,  or  as  near  home  as  anything  my  money  has 
left  me." 

He  drowsed  off.  She  sat  watching  him — the  great  beak, 
the  bulging  forehead,  the  thin,  cruel  lips ;  and  everywhere  in  the 
garden  of  artificial  flowers  which  formed  the  surface  of  her 

316 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

nature,  hiding  its  reality  even  from  herself,  there  appeared  the 
poisonous  snakes  of  hateful  thoughts  to  shoot  their  fangs  and 
hiss  at  him.  She  shrank  and  shuddered ;  yet —  "  It's  altogether 
his  own  fault  that  I  feel  this  way  toward  him  as  he  lies  dying," 
she  said  to  herself,  resorting  to  human  nature's  unfailing,  uni 
versally  sought  comforter  in  all  trying  circumstances — self- 
excuse.  "  He  always  was  cold  and  hard.  He  has  become  a 
monster.  And  even  in  his  best  days  he  wasn't  worthy  to  have 
such  a  woman  as  I  am.  And  now  he  is  thinking  of  cheating 
me — and  will  do  it — unless  God  prevents  him." 

He  drowsed  on,  more  asleep  than  awake,  not  even  rousing 
when  they  put  him  to  bed.  He  did  not  go  to  Saint  X  that  day. 
But  he  did  go  later — went  to  lie  in  state  in  the  corridor  of  the 
splendid  hall  he  had  given  Tecumseh ;  to  be  gaped  at  by  thou 
sands  who  could  not  see  that  they  were  viewing  a  few  pounds 
of  molded  clay,  so  busy  were  their  imaginations  with  the  vast 
fortune  it  was  supposed  he  left;  to  be  preached  over,  the  ser 
mon  by  Dr.  Hargrave,  who  believed  in  him — and  so,  in  es 
timating  the  man  as  distinguished  from  what  the  S}-stem  he 
lived  under  had  made  of  him,  perhaps  came  nearer  the  truth 
than  those  who  talked  only  of  the  facts  of  his  public  career — 
his  piracy,  his  bushwhacking,  his  gambling  with  the  marked 
cards  and  loaded  dice  of  "  high  finance";  to  be  buried  in  the 
old  Cedar  Grove  Cemetery,  with  an  imposing  monument  pres 
ently  over  him,  before  it  fresh  flowers  every  day  for  a  year — 
the  Marchioness  of  St.  Berthe  contracted  with  a  florist  to  attend 
to  that. 

Four  days  after  the  funeral  Janet  sent  a  servant  down  to 
Adelaide  and  to  Mrs.  Ranger  with  notes  begging  them  to  come 
to  Point  Helen  for  lunch.  "  We  are  lonely  and  5-0  dreary," 
she  wrote  Adelaide.  "  We  want  you — need  you."  Only  one 
answer  was  possible,  and  at  half-past  twelve  they  set  out  in 
Mrs.  Ranger's  carriage.  As  they  drove  away  from  the  Villa 
d'Orsay  Mrs.  Ranger  said :  "  When  does  Mrs.  Dorsey  allow 
to  come  home?  " 

''  Not  for  two  years  more,"  replied  Del. 
317 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Ellen's  expression  suggested  that  she  was  debating  whether 
or  not  to  speak  some  thought  which  she  feared  Del  might  re 
gard  as  meddlesome.  "  When  you  finally  do  have  to  get  out," 
she  said  presently,  "  it'll  be  like  giving  up  your  own  home, 
won't  it?" 

"No,"  said  Del.  "I  hate  the  place!"  A  pause,  then: 
"  I  wrote  Mrs.  Dorsey  yesterday  that  we  wouldn't  stay  but 
three  months  "longer — not  in  any  circumstances." 

The  old  woman's  face  brightened.  "  I'm  mighty  glad  of 
that,"  she  said  heartily.  "  Then,  you'll  have  a  home  of  your 
own  at  last." 

"  Not  exactly,"  was  Del's  reply,  in  a  curious  tone.  "  The 
fact  is,  I'm  going  to  live  with  Dr.  Hargrave." 

Ellen  showed  her  astonishment.  "  And  old  Martha  Skef- 
fington !  " 

"  She's  not  so  difficult,  once  you  get  to  know  her,"  replied 
Del.  "  I  find  that  everything  depends  on  the  point  of  view 
you  take  in  looking  at  people.  I've  been  getting  better  ac 
quainted  with  Dory's  aunt  the  last  few  weeks.  I  think  she  has 
begun  to  like  me.  We'll  get  along." 

"  Don't  you  think  you'd  better  wait  till  Dory  gets  back?  " 

"  No,"  said  Adelaide  firmly,  a  look  in  her  eyes  which  made 
her  mother  say  to  herself :  "  There's  the  Ranger  in  her." 

They  drove  in  silence  awhile;  then  Del,  with  an  effort 
which  brought  a  bright  color  to  her  cheeks,  began :  "  I  want 
to  tell  you,  mother,  that  I  went  to  Judge  Torrey  this  morning, 
and  made  over  to  you  the  income  father  left  me." 

"Whatever  did  you  do  that  for?"  cried  Ellen,  turning  in 
the  seat  to  stare  at  her  daughter  through  her  glasses. 

"  I  promised  Dory  I  would.  I've  spent  some  of  the  money 
— about  fifteen  hundred  dollars —  You  see,  the  house  was 
more  expensive  than  I  thought.  But  everything's  paid  up 
now." 

"  I  don't  need  it,  and  don't  want  it,"  said  Ellen.  "  And 
I  won't  take  it!  " 

"  I  promised  Dory  I  would — before  we  were  married.  He 
thinks  I've  done  it.  I've  let  him  think  so.  And — lately — 

318 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

I've  been  having  a  sort  of  house  cleaning — straightening  things 
up — and  I  straightened  that  up,  too." 

Ellen  Ranger  understood.  A  long  pause,  during  which  she 
looked  lovingly  at  her  daughter's  beautiful  face.  At  last  she 
said :  "  No,  there  don't  seem  to  be  no  other  way  out  of 
it."  Then,  anxiously,  "  You  ain't  written  Dory  what  you've 
done?" 

"  No,"  replied  Del.     "  Not  yet." 

"  Not  never!  "  exclaimed  her  mother.  "  That's  one  of  the 
things  a  body  mustn't  ever  tell  anyone.  You  did  wrong ;  you've 
done  right — and  it's  all  settled  and  over.  He'd  probably  un 
derstand  if  you  told  him.  But  he'd  never  quite  trust  you  the 
same  again — that's  human  nature." 

"  But  you'd  trust  me,"  objected  Del. 

"I'm  older'n  Dory,"  replied  her  mother;  "and,  besides,  I 
ain't  your  husband.  There's  no  end  of  husbands  and  wives  that 
get  into  hot  water  through  telling,  where  it  don't  do  any  earthly 
good  and  makes  the  other  one  uneasy  and  unhappy." 

Adelaide  reflected.  "It  is  better  not  to  tell  him,"  she  con 
cluded. 

Ellen  was  relieved.  "  That's  common  sense,"  said  she. 
"  And  you  can't  use  too  much  common  sense  in  marriage.  The 
woman's  got  to  have  it,  for  the  men  never  do  where  women  are 
concerned."  She  reflected  a  few  minutes,  then,  after  a  keen 
glance  at  her  daughter  and  away,  she  said  with  an  appearance  of 
impersonality  that  evidenced  diplomatic  skill  of  no  mean  order: 
"  And  there's  this  habit  the  women  are  getting  nowadays  of 
always  peeping  into  their  heads  and  hearts  to  see  what's  going 
on.  How  can  they  expect  the  cake  to  bake  right  if  they'r.e  first 
at  the  fire  door,  then  at  the  oven  door,  openin'  and  shuttin' 
'em,  peepin'  and  pokin'  and  tastin' — that's  what  I'd  like  to 
know." 

Adelaide  looked  at  her  mother's  apparently  unconscious  face 
in  surprise  and  admiration.  "  What  a  sensible,  wonderful 
woman  you  are,  Ellen  Ranger!  "  she  exclaimed,  giving  her 
mother  the  sisterly  name  she  always  gave  her  when  she  felt 
a  particular  delight  in  the  bond  between  them.  And  half  to 

319 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

herself,  yet  so  that  her  mother  heard,  she  added :  "  And  what 
a  fool  your  daughter  has  been !  " 

"  Nobody's  born  wise,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  mighty  few  takes 
the  trouble  to  learn." 

At  Point  Helen  the  mourning  livery  of  the  lodge  keeper 
and  of  the  hall  servants  prepared  Ellen  and  her  daughter  for 
the  correct  and  elegant  habiliments  of  woe  in  which  Matilda 
and  her  son  and  daughter  were  garbed.  If  Whitney  had  died 
before  he  began  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  while  his  family  were 
in  a  good  humor  with  him  because  of  his  careless  generosity, 
or,  rather,  indifference  to  extravagance,  he  would  have  been 
mourned  as  sincerely  as  it  is  possible  for  human  beings  to  mourn 
one  by  whose  death  they  are  to  profit  enormously  in  title  to 
the  material  possessions  they  have  been  trained  to  esteem  above 
all  else  in  the  world.  As  it  was,  those  last  few  months  of 
anxiety — Mrs.  Whitney  worrying  lest  her  luxury  and  social 
leadership  should  be  passing,  Ross  exasperated  by  the  daily 
struggle  to  dissuade  his  father  from  fatuous  enterprises — had 
changed  Whitney's  death  from  a  grief  to  a  relief.  However, 
"  appearances  "  constrained  Ross  to  a  decent  show  of  sorrow, 
compelled  Mrs.  Whitney  to  a  still  stronger  exhibit.  Janet, 
who  in  far-away  France  had  not  been  touched  by  the  financial 
anxieties,  felt  a  genuine  grief  that  gave  her  an  admirable  stimu 
lus  to  her  efflorescent  oversoul.  She  had  "  prepared  for  the 
worst,"  had  brought  from  Paris  a  marvelous  mourning  ward 
robe — dresses  and  hats  and  jewelry  that  set  off  her  delicate 
loveliness  as  it  had  never  been  set  off  before.  She  made  of 
herself  an  embodiment,  an  apotheosis,  rather,  of  poetic  woe— 
and  so,  roused  to  emulation  her  mother's  passion  for  pose. 
Ross  had  refused  to  gratify  them  even  to  the  extent  of  taking 
a  spectator's  part  in  their  refined  theatricals.  The  coming  of 
Mrs.  Ranger  and  Adelaide  gave  them  an  audience  other  than 
servile ;  they  proceeded  to  strive  to  rise  to  the  opportunity.  The 
result  of  this  struggle  between  mother  and  daughter  was  a 
spectacle  so  painful  that  even  Ellen,  determined  to  see  only 
sincerity,  found  it  impossible  not  to  suspect  a  grief  that  could 
find  so  much  and  such  language  in  which  to  vent  itself.  She 

320 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

fancied  she  appreciated  why  Ross  eyed  his  mother  and  sister 
with  unconcealed  hostility  and  spoke  almost  harshly  when  they 
compelled  him  to  break  his  silence. 

Adelaide  hardly  gave  the  trvvo  women  a  thought.  She  was 
surprised  to  find  that  she  was  looking  at  Ross  and  thinking  of 
him  quite  calmly  and  most  critically.  His  face  seemed  to  her 
trivial,  with  a  selfishness  that  more  than  suggested  meanness, 
the  eyes  looking  out  from  a  mind  which  habitually  entertained 
ideas  not  worth  a  real  man's  while.  What  was  the  matter  with 
him — "  or  with  me?"  What  is  he  thinking  about?  Why  is 
he  looking  so  mean  and  petty  ?  Why  had  he  no  longer  the  least 
physical  attraction  for  her?  Why  did  her  intense  emotions  of 
a  few  brief  weeks  ago  seem  as  vague  as  an  unimportant  occur 
rence  of  many  years  ago?  What  had  broken  the  spell?  She 
could  not  answer  her  own  puzzled  questions;  she  simply  knew 
that  it  was  so,  that  any  idea  that  she  did,  or  ever  could,  love 
Ross  Whitney  was  gone,  and  gone  forever.  "  It's  so,"  she 
thought.  "  What's  the  difference  why?  Shall  I  never  learn  to 
let  the  stove  doors  alone?" 

As  soon  as  lunch  was  over  Matilda  took  Ellen  to  her 
boudoir  and  Ross  went  away,  leaving  Janet  and  Adelaide  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  shaded  west  terrace  with  its  vast  outlook 
upon  the  sinuous  river  and  the  hills.  To  draw  Janet  from 
the  painful  theatricals,  she  took  advantage  of  a  casual  question 
about  the  lynching,  and  went  into  the  details  of  that  red  evening 
as  she  had  not  with  anyone.  It  was  nowT  almost  two  months 
into  the  past;  but  all  Saint  X  was  still  feverish  from  it,  and 
she  herself  had  only  begun  again  to  have  unhaunted  and  un 
broken  sleep.  While  she  was  relating  Janet  forgot  herself; 
but  wrhen  the  story  was  told — all  of  it  except  Adelaide's  own 
part;  that  she  entirely  omitted — Janet  went  back  to  her  per 
sonal  point  of  view.  "A  beautiful  love  story!  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  And  right  here  in  prosaic  Saint  X !  " 

"  Is  it  Saint  X  that  is  prosaic,"  said  Adelaide,  "  or  is  it  we, 
in  failing  to  see  the  truth  about  familiar  things?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Janet,  in  the  tone  that  means  "  not  at 
all."  To  her  a  thrill  of  emotion  or  a  throb  of  pain  felt  by  a 

321 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

titled  person  differed  from  the  same  sensation  in  an  untitled 
person  as  a  bar  of  supernal  or  infernal  music  differs  from  the 
whistling  of  a  farm  boy  on  his  way  to  gather  the  eggs ;  if  the 
title  was  royal — Janet  wept  when  an  empress  died  of  a  cancer 
and  talked  of  her  "  heroism  "  for  weeks. 

"  Of  course,"  she  went  on  musingly,  to  Adelaide,  "  it  was 
very  beautiful  for  Lorry  and  Estelle  to  love  each  other.  Still, 
I  can't  help  feeling  that—  At  least,  I  can  understand  Arden 
Wilmot's  rage.  After  all,  Estelle  stepped  out  of  her  class; 
didn't  she,  Del?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Del,  not  recognizing  the  remark  as  one  she 
herself  might  have  made  not  many  months  before.  "  Both  she 
and  Lorry  stepped  out  of  their  classes,  and  into  the  class  where 
there  is  no  class,  but  only  just  men  and  women,  hearts  and 
hands  and  brains."  She  checked  herself  just  in  time  to  refrain 
from  adding,  "  the  class  our  fathers  and  mothers  belonged  in." 

Janet  did  not  inquire  into  the  mystery  of  this.  "  And 
Estelle  has  gone  to  live  with  poor  Lorry's  mother !  "  said  she. 
"  How  noble  and  touching!  Such  beautiful  self-sacrifice!  " 

"  Why  self-sacrifice?  "  asked  Del,  irritated.  "  She  couldn't 
possibly  go  home,  could  she?  And  she  is  fond  of  Lorry's 
mother." 

"  Yes,  of  course.  No  doubt  she's  a  dear,  lovely  old  woman. 
But — a  washerwoman,  and  constant,  daily  contact — and  not  as 
lady  and  servant,  but  on  what  must  be,  after  all,  a  sort  of 
equality — "  Janet  finished  her  sentence  with  a  ladylike  look. 

Adelaide  burned  with  the  resentment  of  the  new  convert. 
"  A  woman  who  brought  into  the  world  and  brought  up  such 
a  son  as  Lorry  was,"  said  she,  "  needn't  yield  to  anybody." 
Then  the  silliness  of  arguing  such  a  matter  with  Madame  la 
Marquise  de  Saint  Berthe  came  over  her.  "  You  and  I  don't 
look  at  life  from  the  same  standpoint,  Janet,"  she  added,  smil 
ing.  "  You  see,  you're  a  lady,  and  I'm  not — any  more." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are,"  Janet,  the  devoid  of  the  sense  of  humor, 
hastened  to  assure  her  earnestlv.  "  You  know  we  in  France 
don't  feel  as  they  do  in  America,  that  one  gets  or  loses  caste 
when  one  gets  or  loses  money.  Besides,  Dory  is  in  a  profes- 

322 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

sion  that  is  quite  aristocratic,  and  those  lectures  he  delivered  at 
Gottingen  are  really  talked  about  everywhere  on  the  other 
side." 

But  Adelaide  refused  to  be  consoled.  "  No,  I'm  not  * 
lady — not  what  you'd  call  a  lady,  even  as  a  Frenchwoman." 

"Oh,  but  7'm  a  good  American!"  Janet  protested,  sud 
denly  prudent  and  rushing  into  the  pretenses  our  transplanted 
and  acclimatized  sisters  are  careful  to  make  when  talking  with 
us  of  the  land  whence  comes  their  sole  claim  to  foreign  aristo 
cratic  consideration — their  income.  "  I'm  really  quite  famous 
for  my  Americanism.  I've  done  a  great  deal  toward  estab 
lishing  our  ambassador  at  Paris  in  the  best  society.  Coming 
from  a  republic  and  to  a  republic  that  isn't  recognized  by  our 
set  in  France,  he  was  having  a  hard  time,  though  he  and  his 
wife  are  all  right  at  home.  Now  that  there  are  more  gentle 
men  in  authority  at  Washington,  our  diplomats  are  of  a  much 
better  class  than  they  used  to  be.  Everyone  over  there  says  so. 
Of  course,  you — that  is  we,  are  gradually  becoming  civilized 
and  building  up  an  aristocracy." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Adelaide,  feeling  that  she  must 
change  the  subject  or  show  her  exasperation,  yet  unable  to  find 
any  subject  which  Janet  would  not  adorn  with  refined  and 
cultured  views.  "Isn't  Ross,  there,  looking  for  you?" 

He  had  just  rushed  from  the  house,  his  face,  his  manner 
violently  agitated.  As  he  saw  Adelaide  looking  at  him,  he 
folded  and  put  in  his  pocket  a  letter  which  seemed  to  be  the 
cause  of  his  agitation.  When  the  two  young  women  came  to 
where  he  was  standing,  he  joined  them  and  walked  up  and 
down  with  them,  his  sister,  between  him  and  Del,  doing  all 
the  talking.  Out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  Del  saw  that  his 
gaze  was  bent  savagely  upon  the  ground  and  that  his  struggle 
for  self-control  was  still  on.  At  the  first  opportunity  she  said : 
"  I  must  get  mother.  We'll  have  to  be  going." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  yet,"  urged  Janet,  sincerity  strong  in  her 
affected  accents.  Del  felt  that  the  sister,  for  some  reason, 
as  strongly  wished  not  to  be  left  alone  with  the  brother  as  the 
brother  wished  to  be  left  alone  with  the  sister.  In  confirma- 

323 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

tion  of  this,  Janet  went  on  to  say:  "Anyhow,  Ross  will  tell 
your  mother." 

Ross  scowled  at  his  sister,  made  a  hesitating,  reluctant 
movement  toward  the  steps;  just  then  Matilda  and  Ellen 
appeared.  Adelaide  saw  that  her  mother  had  succeeded  in 
getting  through  Matilda's  crust  of  sham  and  in  touch  with  her 
heart.  At  sight  of  her  son  Mrs.  Whitney's  softened  coun 
tenance  changed — hardened,  Adelaide  thought — and  she  said 
to  him  eagerly:  "  Any  news,  any  letters?  " 

"  This,"  answered  Ross  explosively.  He  jerked  the  lettel 
torn  his  pocket,  gave  it  to  his  mother. 

"  You'll  excuse  me — Ellen — Adelaide,"  said  Matilda,  as  she 
unfolded  the  paper  with  fingers  that  trembled.  "  This  is  very 
important."  Silence,  as  she  read,  her  eager  glance  leaping 
along  the  lines.  Her  expression  became  terrible;  she  burst 
out  in  a  voice  that  was  both  anger  and  despair:  "No  will! 
He  wasn't  just  trying  to  torment  me  when  he  said  he  hadn't 
made  one.  No  will!  Nothing  but  the  draft  of  a  scheme 
to  leave  everything  to  Tecumseh — there's  your  Hiram's  work, 
Ellen!" 

Adelaide's  gentle  pressure  on  her  mother's  arm  was  un 
necessary  ;  it  was  too  evident  that  Matilda,  beside  herself,  could 
not  be  held  responsible  for  anything  she  said.  There  was  no 
pretense,  no  "  oversoul  "  in  her  emotion  now.  She  was  as  dif 
ferent  from  the  Matilda  of  the  luncheon  table  as  the  swollen 
and  guttered  face  of  woe  in  real  life  is  different  from  the 
graceful  tragedy  of  the  stage. 

"No  will;  what  of  it?"  said  Ellen  gently.  "It  won't^ 
make  the  least  difference.  There's  just  you  and  the  children." 

Adelaide,  with  clearer  knowledge  of  certain  dark  phases  of 
human  nature  and  of  the  Whitney  family,  hastily  interposed. 
"Yes,  we  must  go,"  said  she.  "  Good-by,  Mrs.  Whitney," 
and  she  put  out  her  hand. 

Mrs.  Whitney  neither  saw  nor  heard.  "  Ellen !  "  she  cried, 
her  voice  like  her  wild  and  haggard  face.  "  What  do  you  think 
of  such  a  daughter  as  mine  here?  Her  father " 

Janet,  with  eyes  that  dilated  and  contracted  strangely,  in- 

324 


CHARLES   WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

terrupted  with  a  sweet,  deprecating,  "  Gocd-by,  Adelaide  dear. 
As  I  told  you,  I  am  leaving  to-night " 

There  Ross  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  Janet's  shoulder. 
"  You  are  going  to  stay,  young  lady,"  he  said  between  his 
teeth,  "  and  hear  what  your  mother  has  to  say  about  you." 
His  voice  made  Adelaide  shudder,  even  before  she  saw  the 
black  hate  his  eyes  were  hurling  at  his  sister. 

"  Yes,  we  want  you,  Ellen,  and  you,  Del,  to  knew  her  a* 
she  is,"  Mrs.  Whitney  now  raged  on.  "  When  she  married, 
her  father  gave  her  a  dowry,  bought  that  title  for  her — paid  as 
much  as  his  whole  fortune  now  amounts  to.  He  did  it  solely 
because  I  begged  him  to.  She  knows  the  fight  I  had  to  win 
him  over.  And  now  that  he's  gone,  without  making  a  will, 
she  says  she'll  have  her  legal  rights !  Her  legal  rights !  She'll 
take  one-third  of  what  he  left.  She'll  rob  her  brother  and  her 
mother!  " 

Janet  was  plainly  reminding  herself  that  she  must  not 
forget  that  she  was  a  lady  and  a  marchioness.  In  a  manner 
in  which  quiet  dignity  was  mingled  with  a  delicate  soul's 
shrinking  from  such  brawling  vulgarity  as  this  that  was  being 
forced  upon  her,  she  said,  looking  at  Adelaide:  "Papa  never 
intended  that  my  down-  should  be  taken  out  of  my  share.  It 
was  a  present."  She  looked  calmly  at  her  mother.  "  Just 
like  your  jewels,  mamma."  She  turned  her  clear,  luminous  eyes 
upon  Ross.  "  Just  like  the  opportunities  he  gave  you  to  get 
your  independent  fortune." 

Mrs.  Whitney,  trembling  so  that  she  could  scarcely  articu 
late,  retorted :  "  At  the  time  he  said,  and  I  told  you,  it  was 
to  come  out  of  your  share.  And  how  you  thanked  me  and 
kissed  me  and — "  She  stretched  toward  Ellen  her  shaking  old 
woman's  hands,  made  repellent  by  the  contrasting  splendor 
of  magnificent  black  pearl  rings.  "  O  Ellen,  Ellen!  "  she  quav 
ered.  "  I  think  my  heart  will  burst!  " 

"  You  did  say  he  saM  so,"  replied  Janet  softly,  "  but  he 
never  told  me" 

"  You — you — "  stuttered  Ross,  flinging  out  his  arms  at  her 
in  a  paroxysm  of  fury. 

325 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  I  refuse  to  discuss  this  any  further,"  said  Janet,  draw 
ing  herself  up  in  the  full  majesty  of  her  black-robed  figure  and 
turning  her  long  shapely  back  on  Ross.  "  Mrs.  Ranger,  I'm 
sure  you  and  Del  realize  that  mother  and  Ross  are  terribly 
upset,  and  not " 

"  They'll  realize  that  you  are  a  cheat,  a  vulture  in  the 
guise  of  woman !  "  cried  Mrs.  Whitney.  "  Ellen,  tell  her  what 
she  is!" 

Mrs.  Ranger,  her  eyes  down  and  her  face  expressing  her 
agonized  embarrassment,  contrived  to  say:  "  You  mustn't  bring 
me  in,  Mattie.  Adelaide  and  I  must  go." 

"  No,  you  shall  hear!  "  shrieked  Mrs.  Whitney,  barring  the 
way.  "  All  the  world  shall  hear  how  this  treacherous,  ingrate 
daughter  of  mine — oh,  the  sting  of  that! — how  she  purposes 
to  steal,  yes,  steal  four  times  as  much  of  her  father's  estate 
as  Ross  or  I  get.  Four  times  as  much!  I  can't  believe  the 
law  allows  it!  But  whether  it  does  or  not,  Janet  Whitney, 
God  won't  allow  it!  God  will  hear  my  cry,  my  curse  on  you." 

"  My  conscience  is  clear,"  said  Janet,  and  her  gaze,  spirit 
ual,  exalted,  patient,  showed  that  she  spoke  the  truth,  that  her 
mother's  looks  and  words  left  her  quite  unscathed. 

Ross  vented  a  vicious,  jeering  laugh.  His  mother,  over 
come  with  the  sense  of  helplessness,  collapsed  from  rage  to 
grief  and  tears.  She  turned  to  Mrs.  Ranger.  "  Your  Hiram 
was  right,"  she  wailed,  "  and  my  Charles  said  so  just  before 
he  went.  Look  at  my  daughter,  Ellen.  Look  at  my  son — for 
he,  too,  is  robbing  me.  He  has  his  own  fortune  that  his  dead 
father  made  for  him ;  yet  he,  too,  talks  about  his  legal  rights. 
He  demands  his  full  third !  " 

Adelaide  did  not  look  at  Ross ;  yet  she  was  seeing  him  inside 
and  out,  the  inside  through  the  outside. 

"  My  heartless  children!"  sobbed  Matilda.  "I  can't  be 
lieve  that  they  are  the  same  I  brought  into  the  world  and 
watched  over  and  saw  that  they  had  everything.  God  forgive 
them — and  me.  Your  Hiram  was  right.  Money  has  done  it. 
Money  has  made  monsters  of  them.  And  I — oh,  how  I  am 
punished !  " 

326 


CHARLES    WHITNEY'S    HEIRS 

All  this  time  Ellen  and  Adelaide  had  been  gradually  re 
treating,  the  Whitneys  following  them.  When  Mrs.  Whitney 
at  last  opened  wide  the  casket  of  her  woe  and  revealed  Ross 
there,  too,  he  wheeled  on  Adelaide  with  a  protesting,  appealing 
look.  He  was  confident  that  he  was  in  the  right,  that  his  case 
was  different  from  Janet's;  confident  also  that  Adelaide  would 
feel  that  in  defending  his  rights  he  was  also  defending  hers  that 
were  to  be.  But  before  Del  there  had  risen  the  scene  after 
the  reading  of  her  own  father's  will.  She  recalled  her  re 
bellious  thoughts,  saw  again  Arthur's  fine  face  distorted  by 
evil  passions,  heard  again  her  mother's  terrible,  just  words: 
"  Don't  trample  on  your  father's  grave,  Arthur  Ranger!  I'll 
put  you  both  out  of  the  house!  Go  to  the  Whitneys,  where 
you  belong!  "  And  then  she  saw  Arthur  as  he  now  was,  and 
herself  the  wife  of  Dory  Hargrave.  And  she  for  the  first  time 
realized,  as  we  realize  things  only  when  they  have  become  an 
accepted  and  unshakable  basic  part  of  our  lives,  what  her  father 
had  done,  what  her  father  was.  Hiram  had  won  his  daughter. 

"  We  are  going  now,"  said  Ellen,  coming  from  the  stupor 
of  shame  and  horror  into  which  this  volcanic  disgorging  of  the 
secret  minds  and  hearts  of  the  Whitneys  had  plunged  her. 
And  the  expression  she  fixed  first  upon  Janet,  then  upon  Ross, 
then  upon  Matilda,  killed  any  disposition  they  might  have  had 
to  try  to  detain  her.  As  she  and  Adelaide  went  toward  her 
carriage,  Ross  followed.  Walking  beside  Adelaide,  he  began 
to  protest  in  a  low  tone  and  with  passionate  appeal  against  the 
verdict  he  could  not  but  read  in  her  face.  "  It  isn't  fair,  it 
isn't  just!"  he  pleaded.  "  Adelaide,  hear  me!  Don't  mis 
judge  me.  You  know  what  your — your  good  opinion  means 
to  me." 

She  took  her  mother's  arm,  and  so  drew  farther  away  from 
him. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  begged.  "  Janet  put  me  out  of  my 
mind.  It  drove  me  mad  to  have  her  rob — us." 

At  that  "  us  "  Adelaide  fixed  her  gaze  on  his  for  an  in 
stant.  And  what  he  saw  in  her  eyes  silenced  him — silenced 
him  on  one  subject  forever. 

327 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

He  left  for  Chicago  without  seeing  either  his  sister  or  his 
mother  again.  His  impulse  was  to  renounce  to  his  mother  his 
share  of  his  father's  estate.  But  one  does  not  act  hastily  upon 
an  impulse  to  give  up  nearly  a  million  dollars.  On  reflection 
he  decided  against  such  expensive  and  futile  generosity.  If  it 
would  gain  him  Adelaide — then,  yes.  But  when  it  would  gain 
him  nothing  but  the  applause  of  people  who  in  the  same  cir 
cumstances  would  not  have  had  even  the  impulse  to  forego  a 
million —  "  Mother's  proper  share  will  give  her  as  much  of 
an  income  as  a  woman  needs  at  her  age  and  alone,"  reasoned 
he.  "  Besides,  she  may  marry  again.  And  I  must  not  forget 
that  but  for  her  Janet  would  never  have  got  that  dowry.  She 
brought  this  upon  herself.  Her  folly  has  cost  me  dearly 
enough.  If  I  go  away  to  live  abroad  or  in  New  York — any 
where  to  be  free  of  the  Howlands — why  I'll  need  all  I've  got 
properly  to  establish  myself." 

Janet  and  her  baby  left  on  a  later  train  for  the  East.  Be 
fore  going  she  tried  to  see  her  mother.  Her  mother  had 
wronged  her  in  thought,  had  slandered  her  in  word ;  but  Janet 
forgave  her  and  nobly  wished  her  to  have  the  consolation  of 
knowing  it.  Mrs.  Whitney,  however,  prevented  the  execution 
of  this  exalted  purpose  by  refusing  to  answer  the  gentle  per 
sistent  knocking  and  gentle  appealing  calls  of  "  Mother,  mother 
dear !  "  at  her  locked  boudoir  door. 


328 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE  DOOR  AJAR 

UDGE  TORREY  succeeded  Whitney  as  chair 
man  of  the  overseers  of  Tecumseh  and  in  the 
vacant  trusteeship  of  the  Ranger  bequest.  Soon 
Dr.  Hargrave,  insisting  that  he  was  too  old 
for  the  labors  of  the  presidency  of  such  a  huge 
and  varied  institution  as  the  university  had 
become,  was  made  honorary  president,  and  his  son,  still  in 
Europe,  was  elected  chairman  of  the  faculty.  Toward  the 
middle  of  a  fine  afternoon  in  early  September  Dr.  Hargrave 
and  his  daughter-in-law  drove  to  the  railway  station  in  the 
ancient  and  roomy  phaeton  which  was  to  Saint  X  as  much  part 
of  his  personality  as  the  aureole  of  glistening  white  hair  that 
framed  his  majestic  head,  or  as  the  great  plaid  shawl  that 
had  draped  his  big  shoulders  with  their  student  stoop  every 
winter  day  since  anyone  could  remember.  Despite  his  long 
exposure  to  the  temptation  to  sink  into  the  emasculate  life  of 
unapplied  intellect,  mere  talker  and  writer,  and  to  adopt  that 
life's  flabby  ideals,  he  had  remained  the  man  of  ideas,  the  man 
of  action.  His  learning  was  all  but  universal,  yet  he  had  the 
rugged,  direct  vigor  of  the  man  of  affairs.  His  was  not  the 
knowledge  that  enfeebles,  but  the  knowledge  that  empowers. 
As  his  son,  the  new  executive  of  the  university — with  the  figure 
of  a  Greek  athlete,  with  positive  character,  will  as  well  as 
intellect,  stamped  upon  his  young  face — appeared  in  the  crowd, 
the  onlookers  had  the  sense  that  a  "  somebody  "  had  arrived. 
Dory's  always  was  the  air  an  active  mind  never  fails  to  give; 
as  Judge  Torrey  once  said :  "  You've  only  got  to  look  at  him 
to  see  he's  the  kind  that  does  things,  not  the  kind  that  tells 
22  329 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

how  they  used  to  be  done  or  how  they  oughtn't  to  be  done." 
Now  there  was  in  his  face  and  bearing  the  subtly  but  surely 
distinguishing  quality  that  comes  only  with  the  strength  a  man 
gets  when  his  fellows  acknowledge  his  leadership,  when  he  has 
seen  the  creations  of  his  brain  materialize  in  work  accomplished. 
Every  successful  man  has  this  look,  and  shows  it  according  to 
his  nature — the  arrogant  arrogantly;  the  well-balanced  with 
tranquil  unconsciousness. 

As  he  moved  toward  his  father  and  Adelaide,  her  heart 
swelled  with  pride  in  him,  with  pride  in  her  share  in  him. 
Ever  since  the  sending  of  the  cablegram  to  recall  him,  she  had 
been  wondering  what  she  would  feel  at  sight  of  him.  Now  she 
forgot  all  about  her  once-beloved  self-analysis.  She  was  sim 
ply  proud  of  him,  enormously  proud ;  other  men  seemed  trivial 
beside  this  personage.  Also  she  was  a  little  afraid ;  for,  as  their 
eyes  met,  it  seemed  to  her  that  his  look  of  recognition  and 
greeting  was  not  so  ardent  as  she  was  accustomed  to  associate 
with  his  features  when  turned  toward  her.  But  before  she 
could  be  daunted  by  her  misgiving  it  vanished ;  for  he  impetu 
ously  caught  her  in  his  arms  and,  utterly  forgetting  the  on 
lookers,  kissed  her  until  every  nerve  in  her  body  was  tingling 
in  the  sweeping  flame  of  that  passion  which  his  parting  caress 
had  stirred  to  vague  but  troublesome  restlessness.  And  she,  too, 
forgot  the  crowd,  and  shyly,  proudly  gave  as  well  as  received ; 
so  there  began  to  vibrate  between  them  the  spark  that  clears 
brains  and  hearts  of  the  fogs  and  vapors  and  keeps  them  clear. 
,And  it  was  not  a  problem  in  psychology  that  was  revealed  to 
those  admiring  and  envying  spectators  in  the  brilliant  Septem 
ber  sunshine,  but  a  man  and  a  woman  in  love  in  the  way  that 
has  been  "  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid  "  from  the  begin 
ning;  in  love,  and  each  looking  worthy  of  the  other's  love — he 
handsome  in  his  blue  serge,  she  beautiful  in  a  light-brown  fall 
dress  with  pale-gold  facings,  and  the  fluffy,  feathery  boa  close 
round  her  fair  young  face.  Civilization  has  changed  methods, 
but  not  essentials ;  it  is  still  not  what  goes  on  in  the  minds  of  a 
man  and  woman  that  counts,  but  what  goes  on  in  their  hearts 
and  nerves. 

330 


THE    DOOR    AJAR 


The  old  doctor  did  not  in  the  least  mind  the  momentary 
neglect  of  himself.  He  had  always  assumed  that  his  son  and 
Del  loved  each  other,  there  being  every  reason  why  they  should 
and  no  reason  why  they  shouldn't;  he  saw  only  the  natural 
and  the  expected  in  this  outburst  which  astonished  and  some 
what  embarrassed  them  with  the  partial  return  of  the  self- 
consciousness  that  had  been  their  curse.  He  beamed  on  them 
from  eyes  undimmed  by  half  a  century  of  toil,  as  bright  under 
his  shaggy  white  brows  as  the  first  spring  flowers  among  the 
snows.  As  soon  as  he  had  Dory's  hand  and  his  apparent  atten 
tion,  he  said :  "  I  hope  you've  been  getting  your  address  ready 
on  the  train,  as  I  suggested  in  my  telegram." 

"  I've  got  it  in  my  bag,"  replied  Dory. 

In  the  phaeton  Del  sat  between  them  and  drove.  Dory 
forgot  the  honors  he  had  come  home  to  receive;  he  had  eyes 
and  thoughts  only  for  her,  was  impatient  to  be  alone  with  her, 
to  reassure  himself  of  the  meaning  of  the  blushes  that  tinted 
her  smooth  white  skin  and  the  shy  glances  that  stole  toward 
him  from  the  violet  eyes  under  those  long  lashes  of  hers.  Dr. 
Har grave  resumed  the  subject  that  was  to  him  paramount. 
11  You  see,  Theodore,  your  steamer's  being  nearly  two  days  late 
brings  you  home  just  a  day  before  the  installation.  You'll  be 
delivering  your  address  at  eleven  to-morrow  morning." 

"  So  I  shall,"  said  Dory  absently. 

"  You  say  it's  ready.  Hadn't  you  better  let  me  get  it  type 
written  for  you  ?  " 

Dory  opened  the  bag  at  his  feet,  gave  his  father  a  roll 
of  paper.  "  Please  look  it  over,  and  make  any  changes  you 
like." 

Dr.  Hargrave  began  the  reading  then  and  there.  He  had 
not  finished  the  first  paragraph  when  Dory  interrupted  with, 
"  Why,  Del,  you're  passing  our  turning." 

Del  grew  crimson.  The  doctor,  without  looking  up  or 
taking  his  mind  off  the  address,  said :  "  Adelaide  gave  up  Mrs. 
Dorsey's  house  several  weeks  ago.  You  are  living  with  us." 

Dory  glanced  at  her  quickly  and  away.  She  said  nothing. 
"  He'll  understand,"  thought  she — and  she  was  right. 

33i 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Only  those  who  have  had  experience  of  the  older  genera 
tion  out  West  would  have  suspected  the  pride,  the  affection, 
the  delight  hiding  behind  Martha  Skeffington's  prim  and  for 
mal  welcome,  or  that  it  was  not  indifference  but  the  unfailing 
instinct  of  a  tender  heart  that  made  her  say,  after  a  very  few 
minutes :  "  Adelaide,  don't  you  think  Dory'd  like  to  look  at 
the  rooms  ?  " 

Del  led  the  way,  Dory  several  feet  behind  her — deliberately, 
lest  he  should  take  that  long,  slender  form  of  hers  in  his 
arms  that  he  might  again  feel  her  bosom  swelling  and  flutter 
ing  against  him,  and  her  fine,  thick,  luminous  hair  caressing  his 
temple  and  his  cheek.  Miss  Skeffingtori  had  given  them  the 
three  large  rooms  on  the  second  floor — the  two  Dory  used  to 
have  and  one  more  for  Del.  As  he  followed  Del  into  the 
sitting  room  he  saw  that  there  had  been  changes,  but  he  could 
not  note  them.  She  was  not  looking  at  him;  she  seemed  to 
be  in  a  dream,  or  walking  with  the  slow  deliberate  steps  one 
takes  in  an  unfamiliar  and  perilous  path. 

"  That  is  still  your  bedroom,"  said  she,  indicating  onv;  of 
the  doors.  "  A  stationary  stand  has  been  put  in.  Perkaps 
you'd  like  to  freshen  up  a  bit." 

"  A  stationary  stand,"  he  repeated,  as  if  somewhat  d*£ed 
before  this  practical  detail.  "  Yes — I  think  so." 

She  hesitated,  went  into  her  room,  not  quite  closing  the 
door  behind  her.  He  stared  at  it  with  a  baffled  look.  "  And," 
he  was  thinking,  "  I  imagined  I  had  trained  myself  to  indiffer 
ence."  An  object  near  the  window  caught  his  eye — a  table  at 
\which  he  could  work  standing.  He  recalled  that  he  had  seen 
its  like  in  a  big  furniture  display  at  Paris  when  they  were  there 
together,  and  that  he  had  said  he  would  get  one  for  himself 
some  day.  This  hint  that  there  might  be  more  than  mere 
matter  in  those  surroundings  set  his  eyes  to  roving.  That 
revolving  bookcase  by  the  desk,  the  circular  kind  he  had  always 
wanted,  and  in  it  the  books  he  liked  to  have  at  hand — Mon 
taigne  and  Don  Quixote,  Shakespeare  and  Shelley  and  Swin 
burne,  the  Encyclopedia,  the  statistical  yearbooks;  on  top,  his 
favorites  among  the  magazines.  And  the  desk  itself — a  huge 

332 


THE    DOOR    AJAR 


spread  of  cleared  surface — an  enormous  blotting  pad,  an  ink 
well  that  was  indeed  a  well — all  just  what  he  had  so  often 
longed  for  as  he  sat  cramped  at  little  desks  where  an  attempt  to 
work  meant  overflow"  and  chaos  of  books  and  papers.  And  that 
big  inlaid  box — it  was  full  of  his  favorite  cigarettes;  and  the 
drop-light,  and  the  green  shade  for  the  eyes,  and  the  row  of 
pencils  sharpened  as  he  liked  them 

He  knocked  at  her  door.  "  Won't  you  come  out  here  a 
moment  ?  "  cried  he,  putting  it  in  that  form  because  he  had 
never  adventured  her  intimate  threshold. 

No  answer,  though  the  door  was  ajar  and  she  must  have 
heard. 

"  Please  come  out  here,"  he  repeated. 

A  pause;  then,  in  her  voice,  shy  but  resolute,  the  single 
•word,  <kCome!" 


333 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 


THE   DEAD   THAT   LIVE 

'N   the  green   oval  within  and  opposite   the   en 
trance  to  the  main  campus  of  the  great  uni 
versity  there  is  the  colossal  statue  of  a  master 
workman.     The  sculptor  has  done  well.     He 
does  not  merely  show  you  the  physical  man — 
the  mass,  the  strength,  of  bone  and  sinew  and 
muscle;  he  reveals  the  man  within — the  big,  courageous  soul. 
Strangers  often  think  this  statue  a  personation  of  the   force 
which  in  a  few  brief  generations  has  erected  from  a  wilderness 
our  vast  and  splendid  America.     And  it  is  that;  but  to  Arthur 
and  Adelaide,  standing  before  it  in  a  June  twilight,  long  after 
the  events  above  chronicled,  it  is  their  father — Hiram. 
"  How  alive  he  seems,"  says  his  daughter. 
And  his  son  answers:  "  How  alive  he  is  I  " 


(ii) 


334 


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